Moments that define us
by BalefulAutodidact
Summary: As Harry's sixth year begins, and knowing the showdown with the Dark Lord is inevitable, he's chosen to take a more active role in his own future. For his first move, he wants to get closer to the new and eccentric potions master. Little does he know the
1. Chapter 1: A new resolve

_**Disclaimer / Author's Note:** As Harry's sixth year begins, he's spent his summer doing some thinking, quite a lot of thinking, about a very large number of things. One of those things in particular, is how to prepare himself for the inevitable clash with the Dark Lord. Knowing the showdown is inevitable, he's chosen to take a more active role in his own future, and for his first move, he wants to get closer to the new and eccentric potions master, who he senses may have more to offer him than earl grey teas and tiresome anecdotes about famous students past. He also decides he's going to value his friendships more because, as he now knows, he can't survive without them, and he wouldn't even wish to._

 _This will be a slightly slow burn story at first, and Harry isn't going to be either a super powerful, lord-of-all-the-universe kind of guy who talks smack to Dumbledore, Goblins, or anyone else besides the ferret and his merry band of lunatics. There will be, as will be obvious almost immediately, a pairing with Hermione that will bloom in time, and probably nobody else, and besides that, I don't really want to give anything away._

 _It goes without saying, but I'll say it anyway as most everyone else seems to, that Harry Potter remains JK Rowling's creation, and without her inspiration, I would never have even considered attempting a fanfic of any description. With that, let's begin, shall we?_

\- Moments that define us -

There are few things capable of bringing a such a weary, soul crushing sigh from anyone who has endured the better part of a decade and a half of Dudley 'Big D' Dursley, but, Harry reckoned, half an hour of induction into the 'Slug Club' had just achieved that. To be sure, Professor Slughorn didn't seem _that_ bad, in fact, if he weren't so transparently just trying to 'get in' with talented or well-connected students, Harry might even have relished the opportunity to spend time with such a man. Professor Slughorn was clearly intelligent, cunning, without the overt malice that seems to afflict most of the Slytherin cohort at the moment, and perhaps even likeable. Granted, Harry was never much interested in the sort of people who put on airs, showering themselves in expensive cologne or striding about dressed head to heel in what could only be described as the Wizarding World's best imitation tweed Harry had ever seen; truthfully, it reminded him too much of Vernon 'Drillmaster extraordinaire' Dursley. Even so, he had to admit, he couldn't shake the feeling that, tedious though he could be, this particular professor might be one to ingratiate himself with.

Harry Potter might be many things, especially if you read the Daily Prophet on a regular basis; indeed, as far as any casual reader might be concerned, Harry was presently a deluded, womanising psychopath with a narcissistic streak and a total inability to obey authority, but at the same time, also a misunderstood hero, recently redeemed by the all-too-hard-to-deny facts that tend to force themselves on you when Voldemort as good as winks at the Daily Prophet camera before vanishing in a puff of smoke in the ministry atrium and, in general, a 'pretty good guy'. Still, that nonsense aside, Harry was at least sure of two things: first, that Voldemort really was back, and that he now faced the prospect, a terrifying one, he wasn't ashamed to admit, of an inevitable, fate-driven confrontation with a serial killer and his merry band of Azkabans' most criminally insane, and second, he wasn't stupid.

The second quality is what brought that sigh from him as Harry realised, now that he was safely away in his own compartment waiting for his friends to return from prefect duties, that he would probably have to put up with Professor Slughorn's less desirable qualities. He wasn't quite sure exactly _what_ he thought the professor had to offer him, in fact, he knew almost nothing about him, other than one crucial fact: Dumbledore brought Harry especially to meet him, and to convince him to return to Hogwarts. Now, normally, Harry would simply go along with whatever it was the headmaster thought should be done, and his previous experiences had shown that, whatever his mistakes may have been with Sirius (and boy, did he have unfinished business with the headmaster on that point), Dumbledore usually set him and his friends on the right path. Still, for Harry now, fresh from the loss of Sirius, 'usually' just didn't cut it, and although he was pretty sure he had nothing to fear from the new professor, and that Dumbledore's motivation for bringing Harry probably was mostly just to encourage the clearly fickle man to chase after this new 'prize', it was the 'mostly' that got Harry thinking. It was that thinking that got him talking to, of all people, a couple of Slytherins from the Slug Club, just after they left the professor's compartment...

\- Moments that define us -

"Excuse me, mind if I bother you for a second?"

Two green-robed Slytherins turned to face Harry, and from the looks on their faces, 'bother' was probably already an understatement.

"What do you want, Potter?"

Harry thought he should also underline and circle that thought, if their hands immediately snapping to concealed wands was anything to go by.

"Er, hey...Zabini, was it? I'm sorry, I don't know your name" Harry said, doing an impressive job of suppressing a slight stammer of nervousness at the baleful glare directed at him by Zabini, while nodding his head in apology to the slim but well-built boy with dark brown hair beside Blaise, whose name Harry honestly didn't know.

"You don't sound too sure Potter, but I suppose that comes with the territory, not having my face plastered on the Prophet every other article. Yes, I'm Zabini, and no, I'm not introducing you to my friend here, just spit out what you want before I get bored."

 _Well, looks like green robes number two is going to remain a mystery then,_ Harry thought to himself, _best just ask and be gone before the curses start flying._

"Alright then, to the point it is. Do you know anything about Professor Slughorn?" Harry asked, keeping to the tried and true 'Gryffindors Forward!' approach, which admittedly, usually failed.

"Yeah, he's pretty short, old, and no, I don't have his owling address, so I can't set you up on a date"

 _Well, at least he has a sense of humour,_ thought Harry wryly, _the 'Gryffindors Forward!' Losing streak continues I suppose_.

"Ah, I'll have to ask elsewhere for that then," Harry said, but noting Zabini's eyes narrowing dangerously, decided to just cut to the chase again, "but anyway, what I meant was, I know he's taught here before, I just wondered if this 'Slug Club' thing was a tradition?"

"Hmph, and what makes you think I'd know, Potter? What, you think because I'm a Slytherin, I automatically know everything that's ever happened in my house?" Zabini just about spat the last words out, and Harry was curious about that, but decided not to pursue that avenue of questioning, filing it under 'Matters of Interest' for later.

"No, in fact, if Slytherin house is as ambition focused as it's talked up to be, I wouldn't think you'd tell each other much of anything at all unless you had a reason, I was just curious in case you'd heard anything anyway."

Zabini's eyes remained narrowed, but Harry thought he detected something else besides suspicion there now: curiosity, perhaps? More likely, he was just wondering what possessed Harry to try something as obviously suicidal as asking a Slytherin anything.

"I'll just pass over your stereotyping us all again, and get straight to the point: As far as I know, Slughorn always ran these clubs, in fact, Malfoy near enough told the entire train about that fact when he didn't get an invitation to this meeting. Short of that, I don't know anything that'd interest you, and wouldn't tell you if I did anyway."

Harry's eyes flickered with amusement at that information, _so the ferret didn't get an invite, why is that so satisfying?_ Still, it looked like he wasn't getting anything else out of Zabini, and his companion, who had till now been content with glaring at Harry, was now ominously edging closer to Harry's own wand arm, and he sensed he'd pushed his luck far enough.

"Right, well thanks anyway Zabini, I'll let you two head off then."

"Oh, we're dismissed? How kind of you, I'll be sure to let the Prophet know you're as generous as you are demented."

Before Harry could even formulate a reply, Zabini had turned and walked away, companion in tow, and Harry was left to consider the scant information he'd gleaned...

\- Moments that define us -

To Harry that information, if you could call it that, really wasn't all that helpful, and yet, it set him to thinking. He was sure Dumbledore had told him that Professor Slughorn had taught at Hogwarts before, and if he had always courted those with potential, maybe he'd learned some things from them as well? It was probably a stupid idea but Harry had resolved, having learned the prophecy, to arm himself for the fight ahead as best he could. He might be 'destined' to fight, but he was sure as hell not going to be 'destined' to die, not if he could help it. Maybe the good professor had some good advice on dark magic he could use, or knew people who did. You never know, maybe he even taught Death Eaters, and could give Harry advice on their strategy? Long shot, sure, but worth it if it panned out.

Still, to even pursue this line of thought, Harry would have to wait, and try and form a friendship with the professor. For that, he needed the help of the only person he could ever trust for help on friendship, and speaking of, she should be back with Ron any moment. Resolving himself to try and find a diplomatic way to ask Hermione after the start of term feast for advice, he stretched back into his seat, and allowed his eyes to close.

\- Moments that define us -

An enormous bang rang through the compartment, and Harry bolted up in his seat, eyes wide, fumbling for his wand, before gracelessly tripping as he moved to stand, stumbling forward, and smacking his face straight into the seat opposite him, then sliding to the floor in a dazed heap.

"Oh for goodness sake Harry, you're not going to get out of Dumbledore's speech by concussing yourself on the train!"

Harry smiled slightly to himself, through a haze of sluggishness and pain (not exactly a pleasant mixture), at the huffy voice that could only mean Hermione was here. _Wait, did she just see that!_

"Hermione!"

Harry jumped up to greet his friend, but unfortunately forgot that his feet were still halfway wedged under the seat he'd fallen under, and promptly went down with a second crash.

"Oi, what the bloody hell are you doing to Harry?!" came a second, louder voice. _Must be Ron,_ Harry thought to himself, through a now much increased haze of pain, which had firmly overpowered the sluggishness this time around.

"Me?! I didn't do anything Ronald, Harry seems to have decided that he'd prefer to spend a night in the hospital wing rather than talk to us!"

 _Sounds like another argument already, why am I not surprised by that?_ Harry thought to himself, taking more care to disentangle himself before rising to his feet again this time.

"Alright, calm down, someone mind explaining what the bang was for? I thought you two were meant to be in the prefect's compartment for ages yet?"

Ron and Hermione turned from each other back to Harry, both more than slightly red faced. _To be fair though,_ thought Harry, _my face is probably just as red at this point, and not just from being smashed in by the furniture._

"Well," Hermione began, obviously readying herself for a patented mini-tirade, " _Ronald_ thought that, rather than just _opening_ the door to to compartment, which is of course, completely beneath a sixth year wizard, he'd try summoning it open. The bang was the sound of the door narrowly missing him as it flew out of the frame and straight into the wall opposite. Honestly Ron, you were lucky it didn't smash your face in!"

Ron, whose face now increased in colour, quickly muttered "I didn't think about that."

"Oh really?!" Hermione snapped, and Harry could only think, _wrong answer, mate_ , as she rounded on Ron, "Well, maybe if you thought about things before you did them more often, you wouldn't have gotten all those bruises in those ridiculous 'Quidditch sessions' at the Burrow!"

"Hey, what about Harry? He was there too! And, in case you hadn't noticed, his face is just as bruised as I am!"

Harry grimaced at that, and gave Ron a very dirty look. _T_ _hanks a lot for that, mate_.

"And whose fault is that!" Hermione very nearly shouted, and now Harry really did realise it was time to bring this argument to a close.

"Alright guys, that's enough, let's just get inside before you attract half the train to watch you two have a domestic."

From the look on both Hermione and Ron's face, it was clear neither was particularly happy with the other, but the threat of spectators was sufficient to silence them, and they quickly sat down with Harry, Hermione quickly repairing the compartment door, and Harry's now dented glasses.

"Cheers Hermione, prefect duties OK?"

"Oh, not too bad, Ron behaved himself" Hermione sniffed, and Harry couldn't help but smirk at the look of indignation on Ron's face. As much as people around them thought of Harry and Hermione as the brother-sister pair, the description much better fit her and Ron, in his judgement.

"Glad to hear it, well, if you guys are ready, we better think about getting changed shortly, but before that, I've got to tell you more about that new teacher and his club..."

\- Moments that define us -

Sitting in the Great Hall as Dumbledore went through his customary 'eccentric old man' start of term speech, Harry's mind couldn't help but begin to wander. This time though, he couldn't help but focus on the bushy mane in front of him. Certainly, it'd be hard not to, considering it was almost completely obscuring his view of the front of the hall to begin with, but his time in his room at number four had given him plenty of time to reflect on his life, and his friendships.

Sirius had always been quite firm with Harry that he had to stick by his friends no matter what, and his experiences early that summer in the ministry had reinforced that a thousand times over. He still went cold with dread as he recalled the close calls all his friends had because of him. Ron, Neville, Luna, Ginny, all of them, they had all stood by him in the greatest mistake he made in his life, and not one of them blamed him for it. He was more grateful to them than he could ever express. And yet...

He continued to stare into the mane before him, and as he did, Harry couldn't help but feel vindicated by one of his other realisation in the summer: Harry Potter loved Hermione Granger. There it was, clear and simple, and with no frills or half-truths. He didn't exactly know when his feelings for his friend had changed, truth be told, perhaps in some way he had always felt this way, but he knew for sure it was the ministry that had made him realise it. That moment of abject terror as Hermione was hit by the silent curse that almost took her life would never fade in Harry's memory. It had become his greatest terror at night: that he would have to relive that moment again and again. It was one of those moments that defines you, shows you who you really are. That was something Sirius had also taught him, during one of their 'talks' at Grimmauld Place. "You'll know who your friends are, when they stand by you even at the end of a wand, but you'll only know who you are, when you do the same", that had been what Sirius had said, and he now knew it to be true. As Hermione crumpled under that nightmarish curse, a thoughtless, almost disinterested slash from the wand of a wicked servant of an evil, self-styled lord, Harry's world had sharpened into focus, just as it would a short while later, when Sirius...died. He could see it clearly then, for the first time, how he felt for her, and he knew now that he could never deny it if she asked. Merlin forbid she should ask though...

"...and that, I think, is why we should all take extra care this year, of each other and ourselves. I will continue to expect each and every one of you here to behave with the loyalty, friendship and determination, that I know each of you possess. So, with that, I think I've rambled quite long enough! Off to bed with you all!"

Dumbledore's speech was over, then, and Harry, shaking his head slightly to bring his mind back to the present, rose to his feet.

"Come along Ron, you heard Professor Dumbledore, we need to escort the first years."

"Yeah, yeah, I heard him the first time, and I heard you the two dozen times you told me this on the train too, I'm coming," Ron grumbled, also rising to his feet, "see you back in the dorm, mate."

"Yeah, see you there Ron," Harry replied, giving his friend a knowing smile as Hermione slowly inflated with indignation, _rather you than me deal with her now you've riled her up_ , he thought to himself, but thinking of Hermione, "Hermione, do you mind if I have a quick word with you before we turn in, in the common room?"

Hermione looked at him with surprise, eyebrows raised into bushy fringe, but quickly recovered and said "Oh, sure, it's nothing serious is it, you really should see Madam Pomfrey if your head..."

Harry smiled and raised his hands to calm her over-active imagination, "No, no, nothing like that, just a question, an academic one, I suppose" he said, smiling internally at using the magical 'A' word, which was sure not only to get Hermione's attention, but just as surely...

"Ugh, I'll leave you two to it then, I don't want to end up collapsing in the common room from boredom!" Ron muttered, quickly ducking away from the swat of Hermione's hand, aiming for his no doubt still sore arms. He really did need to avoid annoying Hermione when he was suffering from Quidditch-itus, Harry thought.

"Hmph, fine! I expect you bright and bushy tailed tomorrow though Ronald!"

Ron, with the smirk that always meant he was playing with fire, said quickly before moving towards the first years, "Well, if I'm bushy tailed and you're bushy maned, we could always dress up as a cat and scare the firsties into obedience."

Harry couldn't help but laugh at the outrage on Hermione's face, before quickly regretting it as she glared balefully at him as Ron dodged her swatting yet again.

"Careful, I might not help you with your _academic_ problems if you don't watch it Harry" she sniffed at him, before hurrying after Ron.

 _Wouldn't dream of it, Hermione, wouldn't dream of it._

\- Moments that define us -

"Alright, so what's the problem Harry?" Hermione asked, settling into her favourite chair beside him, in front of the common room fire, giving it a little flick with her wand to stoke the flames higher. That always amazed Harry, how Hermione could tolerate sitting in front of such a hot fire in the middle of September, _chalk it up to one of her innumerable talents, I suppose_.

"Well, actually I wanted to ask you for advice on a, uh, well, the new professor." Hermione's eyebrows raised slightly at this in question.

"Professor Slughorn? I don't know any more than you do Harry, in fact, from what you told us on the train, you probably know more about him than I do." Hermione shifted slightly in her chair, allowing Crookshanks, who had been pointedly staring up at her, to jump up and settle onto her lap.

"Well, it wasn't specifically about him, it was more, well..." Harry scratched the back of his head, trying to put what he wanted into the right words, "Y'know, you've always had more of a, uh, gift for friendships than I do, or for people at least. You seem to get how people work, you know? I just wondered if you had advice on how to befriend someone?"

Hermione's eyes really did rise back into her hair this time, and Harry couldn't help but start counting off the number of times he'd made her do that today. Maybe he should keep a tally...

"It seems to me, Harry, you already know how to do that. I mean, just look around you, how many people stood by you in Dumbledore's Army, how many at...at the ministry," a slightly pained look passed over her face at the latter, and Harry, noticing how Hermione closed her arms over where he knew her scar must be, quickly leaned forward and lightly touched her hand as reassuringly as he knew how.

"Hey, you OK Hermione?" he asked as gently as he could. He never really knew how to reassure people, Merlin knows he never got any of that growing up, but he'd learned enough from Hermione to know she was a 'bit of a cuddler' as she'd once put it to him in their second year, not long after being revived from her petrification, and so he gently but firmly grasped her hand in his, while keeping a reasonable distance. "You know, if you need to talk about what, well...y'know, I'm here?"

Hermione smiled lightly at him, giving his hand a quick squeeze, before relaxing again, and Harry leaned back into his chair, releasing his grip, somewhat wistfully he had to admit.

"Thanks Harry, but I think I was meant to be advising you here, hm?" She smiled again, and Harry felt a warmth run through him at that, glad that whatever she was feeling, she was still the same Hermione inside, but he hoped she'd talk to him more eventually.

"So, you want to befriend Professor Slughorn? Well, if you want my advice it'd just be this: talk to him."

Harry, shaking his head slightly, simply replied "but...that's the problem! What do I talk about? I don't know how to do that sort of thing!"

Hermione looked thoughtful, and began scratching Crookshanks' ears, while Crookshanks gave Harry a look that seemed all too much like a 'bet you wish you were in my position' smirk for his liking. Vowing to get the wretched kneazle back for it, he waited for Hermione's response.

"Well, if he's interested in 'collecting' you as Dumbledore says, maybe you won't have to initiate anything. You said he wants you in his club? Volunteer for it! Let him collect you, confide in him a little, show him you trust him. If he's as eager to have you on his side as you describe, he'll probably lap up that trust, and maybe even repay it in kind. Ultimately though, just be you Harry. Whatever else you are, you're not a Slytherin, you aren't a manipulator, that's not you."

Harry smiled slightly at this comment, and said, somewhat cheekily, "That, I leave to you, mistress agony aunt."

"Hey, I'll slap your legs in a minute if you don't watch it!" Hermione responded, giving Harry an impish smile nonetheless, one that made his stomach do far more somersaults than was wise after eating, and Harry could only chuckle in reply.

"But seriously Harry, just be yourself. I think you'll find that, actually, when you let people see the real you, you have more of a way with people than you know, it's what makes you a good leader, and don't even try and protest, you know it's true."

Harry smiled again at this, his face heating slightly at the praise, and, feeling much more reassured, said, "Well, I suppose you're right, as always. I'll just have to let the professor make the first move, and go from there. Thanks for your help Hermione."

"No problem, but don't think I'm not wondering what you're up to, I'm expecting a complete explanation for this sooner or later Harry." Hermione said, turning to face the fire as Harry stood to leave, "Oh, and Harry?"

Harry, who had been moving towards the stairs to his dorm, turned back to look at her.

"Yes?"

"Thank you, for what you said earlier. I might just take you up on the offer of a chat. If you like, I'm pretty sure we're off to Hogsmeade before next month is out, we could talk more then if you want to do it while Ron isn't about?"

Harry, blinking slightly in surprise, quickly regained his composure, moved back to Hermione's chair and, placing a hand lightly on her shoulder, said, "That sounds like a plan, I'll look forward to it, good night you two."

Scratching Crookshanks lightly on the back with his free hand, Harry squeezed Hermione's shoulder lightly, stood up, and made his way back to the dorm, only just missing Hermione's gentle reply of, "I'll look forward to it too", as Hermione's eyes rested on the dancing flames, her mind, once again, leaving the common room, leaving Hogwarts, leaving everything behind, and focusing only on one thing.

The slashing sound of a wand cutting air, her chest exploding in pain, and a distant shout of "Hermione!" as her world descended into darkness.


	2. Chapter 2: Fireside chat

If the golden sunlight creeping through the windows of the dorm on the first day back had been any sign of things to come, then Harry was sure the sun was setting out to mock him this week. His first few days of term hadn't been entirely successful, all things considered, although he hadn't exactly pictured great things to come when his first day involved a double session of Defence Against the Dark Arts with none other than the Gothic horror of Severus Snape himself. Harry had vaguely wondered, as he had settled into those first lessons of the term, if the transition to a brighter room would have a corresponding effect on Snape's demeanor. It didn't. If anything, it simply served to throw Snape's sneering, sallow face into even clearer relief, and, Harry felt, there was never a more ironic way to use the term 'relief' than in _that_ way. It seemed Snape was intent on remaining his same old self, not surprisingly, and Harry had already taken more than his share of irritable comments and house point deductions.

Now, sitting in the middle of the Thursday lesson with Ron on his left and Hermione to his right, Harry was just doing his best to focus his attention on taking down notes, and hopefully avoiding drawing Snape's attention. He'd almost gotten away with it too, and as Snape dismissed the class he and his friends, as usual, quickly made to leave. But, like those meddling kids...

"Potter."

 _Ha, well, it was worth a shot anyway._

"Sir?" Harry raised his head and stared Snape down, bracing himself for the inevitable sniping comment, already taking bets in his own mind on the choice of complaint this time. His money today was on the quality of his notes.

"The headmaster has asked me to inform you he requires your presence this evening, at five sharp, in his office." Snape sniffed, no doubt irritated at being used as Dumbledore's owl for the day. Harry quickly recovered from his initial surprise, truthfully, he'd half expected Dumbledore might use Snape to notify Harry of the first of the promised sessions they'd discussed that summer, and wasn't surprised to see Snape wasn't happy with the arrangement.

"Uh, I'll be sure to be there, sir." Harry decided to take the diplomatic approach, for a change, not wanting to risk a detention so quick into the new term. Surprisingly, this actually seemed to work, as Snape simply gave Harry a final glare, before turning and moving back to his desk. _Might try that more often!_

As they left the classroom, Ron and Hermione quickly started chatting to him. No, _at_ him, more like!

"You better not be late Harry, these meetings are going to be really important for you, you know!"

"Relax Hermione, I'm not planning to be late, I'll have plenty of time to get up there after Charms." Harry said, slightly miffed Hermione thought Harry wasn't taking this seriously already. Although, in fairness, he knew her well enough to know she was just prone to anxiety like that. It reminded him a little of Mrs Weasley, and it could be endearing, most of the time. _Most of the time_.

"Ah, give him a break Hermione, the Quidditch tryouts aren't till next week anyway, so he's not going to be doing anything else anyway."

"Hey!" Both Harry and Hermione gave an indignant complaint at Ron's joke, in Harry's case, because he felt he had plenty to be doing after classes, thank you very much, although he suspected for Hermione, she might actually be taking Ron seriously...and she might have reason to, he was somewhat ashamed to admit, although he'd never really put Quidditch before Dumbledore's summons.

"What? Geez, it was just a joke! Anyway, I'm off to see the twins, got a few 'orders' to make, I'll catch up with you both in the common room later, yeah?"

"'Orders' Ronald? Need I remind you you are a _prefect_! You shouldn't be 'ordering' anything from those two troublemakers, especially not when we have to be in Potions in five minutes! For that matter, how can you even see them, they're not in the school!"

"Ah, ways and means Hermione, ways and means, Harry knows what I mean, don't you, mate?" Ron tapped his nose, and before Harry could do more than splutter at the implication, Ron had turned down another corridor, leaving Harry and an irate Hermione stood together, staring at his retreating back.

"Harry..." Hermione turned to look at him, suspicion written all over her face, brown eyes narrowing, and Harry, waving his hands, cut her off quickly.

"He's just trying to drop me in it again, I haven't seen the twins since the summer, same as you."

Hermione looked slightly relieved, although he was offended to note her eyes hadn't lost their suspicion entirely. Deciding to redirect the conversation, he quickly changed topic.

"So, shall we head to Potions then?" Harry, asked, indirectly reminding Hermione they had already lingered long enough.

"Oh Merlin, yes, let's go! Ronald will just have to catch up!" Hermione was already moving in front of him towards the dungeons as she replied, and Harry couldn't help but smirk slightly. _The only thing that ever throws Hermione off course: the threat of a missed lesson!_ As they made their way quickly down the steps off the great hall, Harry couldn't help but shake his head that Ron was already backtracking on his decision to take up Potions after all. Really, he wasn't sure why Ron took the class at all, other than to be with Harry and Hermione, as Ron was always more of a 'wands and brooms' sort of wizard anyway, and unlike Harry, didn't have the same focus on an auror career that made it such a crucial class to take.

As Harry was musing to himself, they finally reached the classroom, and, noting the relief on Hermione's face, they clearly weren't late. He moved into the room beside her, and they took their usual desk at the front. That had been another one of Hermione's ideas, what was it she said in their first lesson? "It'll be an opportunity to catch Professor Slughorn's attention more often, and he'll probably chat to you a little more with you being in front of his desk the whole time." Sound reasoning, top marks Hermione, but that was, after all, to be expected of her.

A few minutes later, Slughorn had arrived, as had Ron, for that matter, who promptly slumped into a seat with Dean Thomas. Their assignment was on the board, and Harry and Hermione had already, thanks in no small part to the annotations on the potions book he had borrowed from Slughorn in their first lesson, gotten their potion prepared and simmering, and it was just a matter of waiting the fifteen minutes it would take to stew. Harry contemplated ways to open a conversation with Slughorn, who was sat in front of their desk, but was saved the trouble after a few minutes as the professor looked across his desk and observed their potion with satisfaction.

"Aha, I see we're well ahead of the class here then, eh? You know, you've got your mother's knack for brewing lad, I knew it the moment I laid eyes on you!" Slughorn exclaimed, a glint in his eye as he positively gushed praise at Harry, who felt a little uncomfortable since it was, after all, _two_ of them working on the potion.

"Thanks professor, but honestly, Hermione deserves most of the credit, like I said to you on the train, there's no brighter witch in our year, and I don't just say that as her friend, either." Harry said, smiling lightly at the bright look that lit up Hermione's features as he spoke, and the warm glow that he could almost see radiating from her eyes. _Damn, I really am hook, line and sinker here. Could be worse fates, I suppose!_

"Oho, you're a modest one lad, again like your mother, but don't think I hadn't noticed Miss Granger's efforts here either!" Slughorn chuckled, turning a smile on Hermione as he spoke, who was now turning as red as the potion in their cauldron, and muttered a quiet "Thanks!" in response.

Slughorn leaned further over his desk towards them, and speaking softly, said, "My dear, I wonder, perhaps you'd be interested in joining me and young Harry here for tea tomorrow evening? I ordinarily meet with a few friendly students for a kind of fireside chat, if you like, nothing formal really, just a social thing, you understand."

Harry raised his eyebrows slightly in surprise, there wasn't meant to be a Slug Club meeting for another week yet, and if they were having a 'private' chat, it was the first he'd heard of it.

"Oh, um, well, if-I mean, that'd be nice, I guess, yeah, I'd like that!" Hermione mumbled, still blushing furiously, while Harry watched Slughorn with veiled curiosity. Perhaps this impromptu informal chat could be the opportunity he'd been looking for?

"Splendid! I'm sure young Harry here will be glad to have you with us, perhaps if the two of you come along to my office, say, around six tomorrow? I'll let the head girl and boy know you're off prefect duties Miss Granger."

Hermione gave a small squeak that could only mean, Harry knew, she had forgotten her duties would conflict with the meeting, but she seemed to be reassured as Slughorn finished speaking, and nodded with a smile to both Slughorn and Harry.

"Excellent! Well, I'd best let you get back to the brewing, eh? Should be done in another minute I'd say." Slughorn leaned back into his chair, beginning to settle back into what Harry assumed were papers he was marking, but not forgetting Slughorn's earlier comments, decided to quickly ask a last question.

"Professor? You mentioned my mum, did you know her?"

Slughorn looked up in surprise at Harry, before smiling broadly again and nodding his head, a little sadly, "Oh yes, I certainly did. Excellent brewer that one, remarkably talented for a muggleborn with no training before she came here, and a finer witch you'd be hard pressed to meet. If you like, I could tell you a few stories tomorrow, I can recall a few adventures here and there you might be interested in!"

Oh, Harry was _definitely_ interested, and he nodded eagerly, giving a quick "That'd be great sir, thanks!", before focusing again on their now ready potion. As they finished it off and bottled the result for marking, Harry couldn't help but smile to himself a little. Hermione had been right, Slughorn seemed a genuinely nice teacher, and it seemed that connecting with him wouldn't just be easy, it might even be _fun._ After all, he had so many stories of his dad from Sirius and Remus, but almost none, really, of his mother. Perhaps, just perhaps, Slughorn might even turn out to be a friend, as much as a source of information, and to Harry, that was a winning result right there.

"Harry?" Hermione said, nudging him lightly in the ribs as they left the dungeons, Ron off ahead of them, chatting to Dean, "You're very quiet, I'm guessing Professor Slughorn didn't ask you in advance about this meeting?"

Harry smiled back at her, going as far as to give her a slight nudge in return.

"He didn't, but that wasn't what I was thinking about."

"Oh," said Hermione, but then, eyes widening quickly, exclaimed "Oh! I see!" She grasped his arm lightly, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Are you sure you're alright with me being there tomorrow, if you want to hear about your mum in private..."

"No," Harry said, placing his hand over her arm in turn to emphasise his point, "I want you to be there, you're my best friend, there's no secrets between us, and let's face it, sharing stories about my mum will be much lighter material than the usual topics we seem to end up sharing!"

Hermione smiled at him, and said "True, very true, I just wanted to be sure." As she spoke, she quickly checked the time with a flick of her wand, a rather useful spell, though Harry had no idea where she picked it up. _No, wait, I know exactly where: the library, as always_. "You'd better head up to see Professor Dumbledore, it'll be time to see him shortly."

Harry gave a start, his thoughts having been entirely on his mother since they'd left the classroom, and realising he'd almost forgotten!

"Thanks Hermione, I very nearly forgot! I'll see you later, OK?"

"Sure, make sure to pay attention!"

"Who do you take me for, Ron?" Harry asked, smiling roguishly at her, as they read the main staircase. Ron was still ahead of them, but not far enough that he didn't shout back "Am I hearing my name Harry? Don't think I can't hear you two back there!" Hermione laughed softly.

"Sometimes, it's hard to tell you two apart, you're bad influences on each other!" Hermione scolded him light-heartedly, before motioning him away, and moving up towards Ron and Dean, "Go on, get moving, I won't be blamed for your tardiness."

Harry, chuckling slightly, moved away and, with a last quick wave, began making his way up to Dumbledore's office. Or more specifically, the gargoyle which guarded Dumbledore's office. Actually, now he thought on it...damn! Snape didn't give him the password! Harry thought Snape had let him off too easily today. _Never trust a snake, I suppose,_ he thought to himself, but it brought him no closer to an idea for getting into the office. He'd just have to try asking, he supposed, and as the Gargoyle came into view, he stopped in front of it and spoke loudly into it's ear.

"Excuse me, I'm hear to see Professor Dumbledore!"

The Gargoyle reacted immediately, shrinking back with a loud curse, rubbing the ear he'd shouted into furiously, glaring at Harry.

"Bloody hell, kid! I'm not deaf! He's expecting you, just go up!" the Gargoyle shouted back, rubbing it's ear and still cursing to itself as it moved aside, allowing Harry to move up the stairs to the office. _I guess I shouldn't have shouted, how was I to know the Gargoyle was sentient?_ He thought to himself in embarrassment, before realising that, after all, this was Hogwarts. _Everything_ is sentient here. As he reached the top, he knocked lightly on the door.

"Come in!" called Dumbledore, and the door swung open before Harry had even lowered his hand. He quickly recovered and moved into the room, standing in front of Dumbledore's large, ornate, and thoroughly cluttered desk. He couldn't even imagine what half of the puffing instruments on top of it did, and he suspected he really didn't want to know either. He waited patiently for a few moments until Dumbledore looked up.

"Ah, hello Harry, please, take a seat, I'll just be a moment. I'd offer you some form of snack, but since dinner is coming up soon, I won't spoil your appetite."

Harry, not knowing what to say to that really, took the indicated seat and waited patiently for Dumbledore to speak, eyes moving around the office to settle on first, the ragged sorting hat, and then Fawkes, in his usual perch, and in full-feathered bloom, it seemed. Fawkes trilled softly as Harry's gaze rested on him, and Harry smiled back, "Hello Fawkes."

Dumbledore looked up again at Harry, and then Fawkes, smiling softly to himself with his customary twinkle in the eyes, before beginning to shuffle his papers into a stack, and moving them to the side of his desk.

"Fawkes is happy to see you well, as of course am I, Harry." Dumbledore said, gazing intently at Harry as he spoke, "I admit, I was worried, after the events of last term, that you might have needed a bit more time before we met. I'm pleased to see you seem to be recovering so well, and of course, proud too."

Harry, feeling himself swell a little with pride at Dumbledore's words, could only smile back and said "Well, I've had time to think, sir, and I'm sorry for, uh, well, basically trashing your office. I promise that won't happen again."

Dumbledore's eyes only seemed to twinkle slightly more brightly at this, and he nodded, simply replying "There's no need for apologies Harry, but I certainly appreciate them. As you can see, no lasting harm was done, to either of us, so, all in the past, yes?"

Harry nodded vigorously at this, glad to have gotten that, at least, off his chest. The guilt of his behaviour had been weighing heavily on him since July. Fawkes, as though he sensed that thought, gave another light trill, before spreading out his wings and flying through the open window into the orange, dusky sky.

"Well, Harry, I wanted to get straight to business with you today, and I will do so, but one question first: what do you think to Professor Slughorn?" Dumbledore asked, eyes remaining fixed onto Harry's as he spoke.

Harry blinked slightly, surprised at the question, but quickly smiled and said "I think he's going to be a great teacher, in fact, me and Hermione are meeting him tomorrow. A 'fireside chat' he called it, I think."

Dumbledore, to Harry's further surprise, seemed both happy and, strangely, quite relieved to hear his words and, after a small pause, said "I'm very pleased to hear that, Horace is an excellent teacher, and we were lucky to retrieve him this year." He shifted slightly in his seat, and looked directly at Harry again, with a more serious look about him. _Looks like we're coming onto business now, I think_.

"But I must admit, I'm also pleased because I had been planning, as part of our lessons to come, on asking you to befriend Horace anyway. He has, before you ask why, had access to many students over the years, one, in particular, that he had known quite well, and about whom I had hoped you might help get us some new and essential details on."

Harry stared at Dumbledore, shocked both at the implications of what he had just said, because really, if Dumbledore has interest in only _one_ student of Slughorn's, it could only be one person if it was relevant to their lessons, but also, surprised and slightly pleased with himself, that his conclusion that Slughorn might have information he'd need in the coming war had been correct.

"Slughorn taught... _him_?"

Dumbledore sighed, moving a few more trinkets across his desk, before looking back at Harry again, hands clasped in front of him.

"Yes, _Professor_ Slughorn taught Tom Riddle, and, as you no doubt are now realising, that fact alone would have been reason enough for me to want Horace back at Hogwarts, even if he was not an excellent teacher which, to be clear, he is."

Harry, processing this information as best he could, was silent a few moments, looking at his hands, before looking back up at Dumbledore, and saying "Well, he already seems to like me, I think, " Harry smiled slightly, and couldn't help adding, "and he certainly likes Hermione too. He says he sees my mum in me, but honestly, I think he's realising there's just as much of her in Hermione too."

Dumbledore smiled at this, inclining his head towards Harry, "On that point, I would defer to your judgement, but I suspect you are probably right Harry. I'm glad to hear your first impressions have been good, and there's no need to worry too much about pressing Horace for anything. Indeed, I'd advise against that anyway, as you'd only ruin what burgeoning friendship the three of you are establishing together here. I will emphasise though, Harry, that Horace is an essential part of the plans you and I will make together this year, and any information, any at all you gain from him..."

Harry quickly interjected, "Yes sir, I'll keep my eyes and ears open."

Dumbledore smiled yet again, and nodded once more, "I'm sure you will, thank you Harry. So, to business, to the village of Little Hangleton, and a family called Gaunt..."

 **\- Moments that define us -**

The next day, Harry filled in both his friends on all that he and Dumbledore had discussed in their first lesson together. They were both suitably impressed by the new information on Voldemort's origins, and the first journey into the pensieve. In fact, Harry felt he would look forward to these lessons with Dumbledore, as it wasn't often his two friends were so quiet, and so spellbound by the story he was telling them. They all agreed that knowing Riddle's background would be vital to beating him, and Harry felt himself reassured by their confidence that, with Dumbledore backing them, they couldn't fail. In fact, Harry almost believed as he spoke with Ron and Hermione that things really were that simple, and it made a wonderful change from the sense of dread that had hung over him at his lowest points that summer.

So, it was a cheerful Harry that accompanied Hermione down to Slughorn's office that evening, having fobbed Ron off with the tried and true tactic of: "We're off to the library to finish our DADA essay, want to come?" Ron had moved over to join Seamus and Dean's game of exploding snap quicker than you could apparate, and Harry, though he felt guilty about lying to Ron, and really, he wasn't even sure why he didn't tell him where they were going, couldn't help but feel pleased that Hermione, too, made no effort to tell Ron the truth. It could be their little secret. Which brought Harry the kind of happiness that is as warming as it is riddled with guilt, but hey, he'd take what he could get!

As they arrived at the door to the office, Hermione gave a smart three knocks, but the door was already opening by the second and, being left with her first hitting thin air, she quickly shuffled into the office ahead of Harry after Slughorn greeted them, blushing furiously for what felt like the fifteenth time that week. _Actually, it probably -is- the fifteenth time, come to think of it._

Harry, following Hermione into the office, was impressed as he looked around it. He may not like the trappings of wealth all that much, but Slughorn undeniably had taste, and the mural-like paintings of Unicorns, Centaurs and, fittingly for a Slytherin, a Basilisk, all looked as though they were meant to be there all along, and Harry couldn't deny the Basilisk portrait, in particular, was an exciting image to look at, even if it brought back some painful memories. He watched Hermione carefully as she too looked at the portrait, but beyond a brief wince, she showed no further reaction to it.

"Now then, get settled, get settled, no need to stand on ceremony with me, and please, feel free to call me Horace while we're together!" Slughorn was almost bouncing with exuberance as he chivvied them into their seats, pouring out what Harry sincerely hoped was Butterbeer into two glasses, handing them to Harry and Hermione before settling into his own lavish armchair opposite them, before the fireplace. Harry had to admit, he could tell Slughorn was quite the gregarious host, and with just simple gestures and smiles, both he and Hermione visibly relaxed into their chairs, all tension dissipating quickly.

"So, I take it your classes are going well Harry? Hermione?" Slughorn, no, _Horace,_ asked, smiling at them both benignly as he sipped a firewhiskey.

"Oh, as well as can be expected, although I think Professor Snape still has a bit of an axe to grind with me." Harry said, and Horace guffawed as Harry spoke, yet somehow managed not to even slightly upset his glass as he did so.

"Aha, the old Potter-Snape rivalry is still in effect then! I daresay I'm not surprised, what with how upset Severus was when Lily married James! Never forgave that!"

Harry blinked, not knowing what to say. _Why would Snape care who my mum married?_ He was about to pursue that thought, before Slugh- _Horace_ turned to Hermione, and asked her how her own week had gone.

"Oh, not too bad Prof- _Horace_ , I just hope I can do justice to my coursework now that I have prefect duties to attend to as well." Hermione replied, smiling as Horace nodded genially at her, with a knowing look in his eye.

"Ah yes, quite a responsible young lass aren't you? Why, I don't think there's any other prefect in the castle who'd think of things that way. It's a shame we didn't get you in Slytherin, the current lot need a good shake up I should think! In my day, Slytherin wasn't run by an incompetent daddy's boy with a bucket of gel in his hair, no sir indeed not!"

At this, Harry and Hermione both laughed, and Harry could only think to himself: _Yep, I -really- am going to like Horace_. Horace laughed too, and, refilling his already empty glass before offering the two of them a refill, which they refused politely, he slumped back in his chair slightly, before fixing an eye on Harry again.

"So my boy, I imagine you wanted to know more about your mother, eh?"

Harry couldn't help it, he perked up at hearing that, and leaned forward, eagerly nodding, "Yes sir, er, Horace, I know loads about my dad, but not much about mum. What was she like?"

Horace laughed again, deep from the belly, and then, eyes shifting to the fireplace, he spoke.

"Well, I could tell you a thousand stories, and still not really describe her to you properly. Lily was, in many ways, almost a sort of avatar for model students everywhere, much like your young friend here," he nodded at Hermione, raising his glass slightly, as she smiled widely back at him, before turning his eyes back to the fire, "but she also had a real fire about her too. Very passionate, very forceful when she wanted to be, and not one to ignore people who needed help. She even helped me once, when I needed someone to speak to, someone to give me advice and comfort. I suppose for that reason alone, I feel I owe it to her memory to offer you the same service lad."

Harry smiled slightly at this, waiting for Horace to continue.

"Most of all though, she was a supremely gifted witch. Remarkable brewer, you know, one of a kind. It was very hard when, well..." Horace sighed deeply, and his eyes moved from the flames again to Harry's, staring at him intently, "you lost your mother lad, and other than losing a child, there's not much harder than that, but we all lost something special that night in your little cottage. To think, that such a bright light in our world could be snuffed out, by a man I once thought I knew...maybe I could have done more, perhaps I should have, but, well, when you get to my age lad, you realise that you'll always make mistakes, decisions you wish you could reverse, I'm sure you understand?"

Harry nodded at this, knowing _exactly_ what Horace meant by that. _Sirius, I'm so sorry._ He shook himself slightly, as Horace was still speaking.

"...wouldn't want to dwell on that tonight though, it's a bit depressing for our first chat, so tell me Hermione, have you thought about a career in potions?"

\- Moments that define us -

As they returned to the common room, both Harry and Hermione were silent. Hermione didn't say anything, but Harry knew she was trying to figure out what to say to him. The talk with Slughorn, as Harry supposed he should refer to him outside of their 'fireside chats', had given him a lot to think about, and he was a swirling mass of mixed emotions. On the one hand, he was bolstered to learn just how talented his mother had been, and there was no denying the intense honesty Slughorn had shown when he described her, so Harry had no doubt she was as talented and wonderful as he'd described. However, Harry didn't fail to notice that, through their conversation, Slughorn was avoiding mentioning Voldemort, and it was clear he really had known Riddle, just as Dumbledore said.

He supposed it made sense that Slughorn avoided the topic, most everyone was afraid of Voldemort, and certainly it must be hard to know one of your students became, well, the monster that plagues the wizarding world for decades, but even so... It was clear Slughorn was hiding something about Riddle. Harry didn't know exactly what, and he'd be sure to ask Dumbledore's opinion on Slughorn's evasiveness, but it just bugged him in that way that some things do. He felt sure he'd have to get a full explanation out of Slughorn eventually, but for now, it'd have to wait.

Turning the corner, they reached the fat lady, gave the password, and made their way into the common room, before Hermione, having swept her eyes across the empty common room, turned and looked at Harry nervously, obviously worrying about what to say. Harry chose to speak first.

"It's OK Hermione, I'm fine, I just need to think about things tonight, at least. Get my head round it all."

He gave his most winning smile, and could tell immediately Hermione could see through the Gryffindor-ish facade. She shook her head lightly, frowning, moved forward a little and looked up into his eyes. Harry felt very nervous and a little exposed, and he didn't quite know how to react.

"You know, Harry, you don't always have to hide away from me, or Ron, although I don't expect you to tell sad stories to Ron, I imagine you boys don't do much of that sort of thing." She sniffed slightly as she finished, and Harry couldn't help but smile as she kept her focus on his eyes. She always knew how to diffuse awkward tension.

"No, I suppose we don't, and I don't really want to hear his stories about Mrs Weasley smacking his bum for eating from the cookie jar, either!"

Hermione swatted his arm and tutted, but he could see she was hiding a smile, and she kept her hand on his arm as she said "Oh, don't be silly, you know what I mean! Just...just remember I'm here, OK?"

Harry wasn't sure why, but the look in Hermione's eyes just seemed to fill him with a rush of affection, and he wrapped his arms around her for a brief hug, before stepping back quickly with a slightly nervous smile.

"I know, thanks Hermione, I'll see you in the morning."

Hermione just kept looking at him, surprise evident in her face, but she simply said "Of course Harry, see you then" and, to his own immense surprise, she gave him a hug in return, just as brief, before turning and moving up to her dorm rooms. Shaking his head slightly to clear it, he smiled to himself a little, relieved she hadn't pushed him away, and he made his way to his own dorm rooms. Ron had evidently already gone up, judging by the snores rolling down the staircase, and he quickly lay down on his bed, not even bothering to remove his robes. As he lay there, thoughts wandering, he resolved again to do his best to protect his friends, and he knew that he was doing the right thing. _After al_ l, he thought with a smile, _it's what his mother would have done_. With that thought, he quickly fell asleep.

 **\- Moments that define us -**

Hermione lay in her bed, thoughts rushing quickly from one thing to another, as they so often did in her speedy if sometimes erratic mind. _Homework, prefect duties, Professor Slughorn...Harry._ Something had changed in Harry over the summer, and she didn't really know what to make of it. He'd always been driven, and determined to beat Voldemort, and she'd always known that, just as she knew he'd do anything for her and Ron. It was, after all, what bound the three of them together. And yet, he'd _changed_ , and she just wasn't sure what to make of it. But above all, it wasn't his determination to succeed, or his drive, whatever his reasons, to befriend Slughorn that confused her, it was the simple hug he'd just given her. He _never_ initiated physical contact, that just wasn't Harry, and she knew, from what little he'd revealed over the years, that he'd had to have been very badly treated by his relatives to be so closed off to human contact.

Yet he _hugged_ her, and she just didn't know what to make of it. But really, it wasn't that he'd done it that bothered her, it was the fact that, until now, her feelings towards her friends had always been familial, brotherly, really, and yet, in that simple gesture, she'd be lying to herself if she denied that she wanted Harry to hug her again. Above all else, that confused her. _After all_ , she thought with a wry smile, _siblings don't usually get butterflies when they hug_.


	3. Chapter 3: The First Move

To most of his followers, Lord Voldemort represented many things. He was a leader, a commander-in-chief, a warrior, in every sense of the word, and without doubt a genius of the dark arts. He was the shadow that terrorised the night of the wizarding world, the terror lurking just out of sight, but always watchful and waiting to strike. This was how he wanted it, of course, but not how it had always been. Once, he had been respected, admired, even, by many of those who followed him, and perhaps even by some who did not. Once, he'd even been handsome, but though so much had changed that night in 1981, one thing remained true for his followers: whatever Lord Voldemort was or was not, he _never_ showed weakness, _never_ felt pain.

Now, as he did his best to focus on his reflection in the ornate mirror hanging above a roaring fireplace, that last belief, too, turned to dust, at least in Voldemort's own mind. He had always carefully cultivated an image of himself, and was all too aware that the terror his name inspired was by far the greatest tool in his arsenal, and yet, he was equally all too aware, as it happened, all too _painfully_ aware, of his limitations.

 _That boy._

A simple, two word thought, and one that chased itself around his mind until Lord Voldemort felt he could do nothing but shriek it out loud, and curse everything within sight, living or not.

 _That boy._

Yes, as he waited before the fireplace, which he could only barely admit to himself he had lit to soothe or at least distract his sore and tense body, he couldn't deny that, at this moment, he was feeling weaker. Not _weak,_ certainly not, but _weaker_. His encounter with the boy...

 _ **That boy.**_

...had left him almost crippled as he fled the ministry, and he had only barely managed to shoo Bella away before he collapsed in the middle of the Malfoy estate, the pain in his head tearing his mind apart. Lord Voldemort just could not understand it, could not understand _him_. No matter what strategy he attempted, the boy always managed to find a new way to surprise him, to unsettle him, to _discredit_ him. Each moment _that boy_ lived was a slap in the face to all the years of carefully cultivated public imagery he had woven around himself, his power and his followers. A simple teenager had undone this, had forced Lord Voldemort, heir of Slytherin, rival of Dumbledore, into a humiliating retreat from the boy's mind, and what disturbed him was that he just didn't know _how_ he'd done it.

Moving his hands closer to the flames, Lord Voldemort murmured his displeasure to himself at the memory of that encounter, and thanked...well, not Merlin, not anyone, really, but thanked his good fortune no one had witnessed his shame, or at least, none who served him. Of course, Bella had been there, but he knew he could trust her. Lord Voldemort smiled slightly at that, a sight alone enough to stop the hearts of most who saw it. _Yes, strangely, I can trust Bella. Probably my most unstable follower, and yet, I can trust her._ He knew why, of course, knew perfectly well of her strange fixation on him that bordered on the obscene, and probably romantic. Lord Voldemort knew he could never satisfy her on the final point, he had never felt a thing for any of his followers, excepting perhaps Nagini, but still...Bella had her uses, and despite his stone heart, he knew that, in some strange way, he felt a kind of affection for her. Then again, he wouldn't know affection if it hit him in the face, so perhaps that was a futile thought.

Turning his hands over, Lord Voldemort focused his thoughts again, channelling his magic through himself to soothe his muscles once more, and clear his mind. He had to be ready, he was, after all, still a Lord, and expected to look the part. Besides, he had no intention of showing any sign of tiredness to his incoming visitor...

\- Moments that define us -

"Come, Draco, your master is waiting upstairs."

Draco Malfoy, tall, lean, if somewhat worse for wear on account of the stress of his father's recent capture, nodded and rose to his feet, following his aunt down the hallway he'd been waiting in. He didn't respond to her, he knew he didn't need to, she'd be far too busy preparing her best line for his new master.

"My new master.." he murmured quietly to himself, but evidently not quietly enough.

"What was that, Draco?"

"Nothing Aunt Bella, I'm just a bit tired." He gave his best effort at a strong reply, bracing himself a bit more fully and standing straighter as he walked. He knew his aunt would brook no sign of inattention in the presence of the dark lord, and though he didn't think she'd raise her wand to family, there was always Black to think of. _Damn, that's a point_.

"You better pull yourself together, I have no intention of forcing the dark lord to waste his time punishing you." Bellatrix warned, eyes flashing, and he couldn't help but finish the thought in his head: _I'll do it myself to spare him the effort_. Yes, he'd better pull himself together, and as quickly as he could. Draco grimaced slightly, but after giving another nod to his aunt, they continued moving through the hallways.

It was strange, really, to be _escorted_ about his own home like a stranger in a Lord's mansion. Then again, for all intents and purposes, it was no longer his home, and he could hardly stomach to remain here longer than needed, when coming across the dark lord was a possibility on his way to the loo, or the kitchens. He no longer felt the glow of pride and appreciation, passing the magnificent works of art his father had painstakingly collected, the banners with the Slytherin crest proudly adorning them, or the occasional and rather strangely nude statue, which, he supposed, was a staple of any manor or mansion house. _Not that I want to know why, it's 'Pureblood tradition', and his father had always seemed to think no further explanation was needed or requested._ No, he no longer felt any pride at all, and all his former conceit, his smug belief in the superiority of his house, his family and his lineage had faded into virtually nothing as he realised, truly understood, just what the dark lord was, and what serving him meant. Shaking his head, he remonstrated himself in his mind. _Better not linger on those thoughts, the dark lord will surely sense them_. Caution was, after all, the better part of valour, so Draco pushed his feelings firmly into the back of his mind, clearing it as his Occlumency tutor had tried, usually failed, to teach him in his childhood.

Now, as they approached the door to the dark lord's quarters, Draco couldn't help but feel that little colder, even despite the glowing hearths lining his former home. Any meeting with the dark lord was one destined to be painful, and his only real optimism was that, he hoped, it wouldn't include _physical_ pain... _for a change_. Wasting no time, his aunt stepped forward, rapping smartly on the door, which, as ever, opened itself at the dark lord's silent command.

"My Lord, Draco is here, as commanded, do you wish me to stay?" Bellatrix spoke, breathless and, to Draco's disgust, with adoration rolling from her words like waves on a shore. Unfortunately, this particular shore was not moved as the Dark Lord, smiling only very slightly, greeted her in return.

"No, thank you Bella, that will be all."

Evidently disappointed, but wise enough not to protest, she gave a brisk nod, turned, and strode from the room and Draco, letting her pass by, made his way in to what had once been the master bedroom although, he now thought to himself, it looked more like a cave. Suppressing that thought, too, he stood before the dark lord, and simply waited for him to speak, knowing that only a fool spoke without being spoken to first.

"Draco, how good of you to join us, please, sit." Lord Voldemort said, gesturing at one of the chairs around a small table, covered in what looked to be like a large number of various runestones and maps, whose purpose was surely beyond him. Obeying the indirect command quickly, he sat, but looked up questioningly at his master. _Who is 'we'?_

"Ah, of course, I forgot to introduce you, this is Nagini," Lord Voldemort gestured with his left hand to what Draco realised, with mounting terror, was a very large green snake, curled around the posts of the bed at the back of the room, watching him in silence and still as a rock, "she's usually away hunting at this hour but, owing to the cold evening has, I think, chosen to join us instead."

Draco was many things, and Potter certainly reminded him of those things often enough, but he was no fool, whatever his many mistakes up to this point. If 'Nagini' as the dark lord referred to it... _her_ , was here, it could only be because the dark lord wanted her there, which didn't bode well for their meeting. Carefully schooling his face into a neutral expression, Draco simply nodded in Nagini's direction, and then awaited his master's next words.

"I understand you've delayed returning to Hogwarts this year on account of waiting for your opportunity to formally prove yourself worthy of joining our ranks, am I correct, Draco?" Lord Voldemort spoke softly, red eyes burning into Draco's, searching for any sign of hesitation.

"Yes, my lord" replied Draco, keeping, as his mother had advised him many times earlier, his answers short and to the point.

"Hm, then perhaps I have a task for you, I might even go as far as to say _mission_ , if that piques your interest?"

"It does, my lord" Draco replied, still keeping a neutral expression, but the small black seed of fear was already beginning to sprout in his chest. _Please, don't let it be murder_.

"I'm glad to hear it," Lord Voldemort said, his tone soft still, but Draco could still see in his eyes that the dark lord was intensely interested in his reactions as he now continued to speak, "as it happens, I need someone, someone _reliable_ , inside Hogwarts, someone I can trust to carry out a very delicate task."

Lord Voldemort paused, and Draco knew he was testing him, waiting for him to interrupt, either to gush his loyalty perhaps, or maybe to beg for details. He had the sense silence was the wiser option however, and simply maintained eye contact, not failing to notice the careful, almost imperceptible probing of his mind by the dark lord, something which made him shudder, ever so slightly. The dark lord clearly didn't miss that reaction, lip curling ever so slightly, but made no comment on it.

"Well, you know when to remain silent, and that's a promising sign Draco. Perhaps you are, as Narcissa assures me, the right man for this job after all."

Draco replied smartly, "Whatever the task, I will carry it out, my lord."

"Splendid Draco, very well then, I need you to go back to Hogwarts, preferably next week, at the beginning of October. I need your eyes and ears inside the school. I have had certain..." Lord Voldemort paused briefly, evidently weighing his words, "...concerns about what the Potter boy may be up to this year."

Lord Voldemort paused again, and Draco could see, to his immense surprise, a real emotion pass very quickly over Voldemort's face as he broke eye contact with Draco, it looked to be anger, but maybe something else?

"Of course, I cannot and will not share the details of _that_ with you, but I do need your service. Specifically, I want you find out why Horace Slughorn has elected to return to Hogwarts this year."

Draco blinked, he hadn't expected that, but it also confused him and, speaking without prompt for the first time, threw caution to the wind and asked "Slughorn, my lord? What does he have to do with Potter?"

Lord Voldemort instantly turned back to Draco, eyes boring into him again, and Draco shifted uncomfortably under the intensity of the gaze. Whatever his preparation, the dark lord was still the dark lord, and he'd defy you to find a man or woman who _didn't_ flinch before his glare.

"That is _my_ business to know, and yet... It won't really be possible for you to keep your ear to the ground if you don't know what you're looking for, no?" Lord Voldemort expected no response, and got none, nor did his slight chuckle as he finished speaking do anything to reassure Draco. _As was the intention, of course_.

"I need you to find out why Horace Slughorn has returned to Hogwarts after so many years in retirement. I want to know why my other eyes in the school report Potter and his friends are meeting with him so regularly, and I most especially want to know why Dumbledore wanted him back so urgently. Is that explicit enough instruction, Draco?"

The dark lord was almost glowing as he projected his magic into a visible aura of power around himself, centred on those burning red eyes and Draco, naturally intimidated as intended, quickly nodded, and spluttered, losing his cool for the first time, "Of course, my lord, I will do as you command!"

Lord Voldemort, satisified, so it seemed, nodded and turned away from Draco in a clear, non-verbal dismissal. Standing quickly and after a respectful bow, he left the room, closing the door lightly behind him, before being immediately grabbed by his aunt, who had evidently been loitering with intent around the doorway.

"Draco, you're not to speak to anyone, even me, about whatever the dark lord wanted of you" she virtually hissed at him in her haste, and Draco, knowing better than to voice his irritation that she thought he would make _that_ stupid a mistake, simply nodded and broke free, moving away as fast as he could. The dark lord had told him little, and Draco expected nothing else, but he, at least, had a clear mission, and, to his immense relief, though he'd never admit it, his hands would remain clean. At least for the moment.

 _For your initiation into the Death Eaters, that's virtually unique._

\- Moments that define us -

Lord Voldemort stood again before the fireplace, Nagini having now moved over from the bed to coil around his shoulders, and he stroked her head gently with a finger, his mind racing.

His meeting with Draco went perfectly to plan, but really, for an uninitiated boy, of average intelligence at best by his own estimation, that was to be expected. Better wizards than Draco had been cowed by little more than a glance from him. _And yet_.

He couldn't shake a suspicion he had formed as he spoke to Draco, and particularly as he probed his mind. The boy was an Occlumens. That was to be expected, any pureblood family worth their name trained their young in that art at least, and he wasn't surprised Draco had felt his presence. What _did_ surprise him was how unperturbed Draco had seemed. Normally, he would find even with only a mild surface scan, a mass of terror-filled thoughts swirling around the minds of his followers like a hurricane. Indeed, it was only ever Bella whose mind remained terror free in his presence...although he'd rather _not_ look at her thoughts when she was in his presence any more than necessary.

But Draco, the boy had virtually cleared his mind, and with very little apparent skill or even, and this in particular galled him, _effort_. That disturbed him more than he could have anticipated. It was unheard of for _any_ wizard of Draco's age to clear his mind so effectively. Lord Voldemort didn't know why or how Draco had done this. _He was growing -very- tired of not knowing things, of late!_ But a more concerning thought came to him as he pondered this: what if it was not Draco who effectively blocked _him_ , but _he, Lord Voldemort_ , who had simply failed to penetrate his mind?

Normally, he would have dismissed that thought out of hand. After all, he was the greatest wizard that had ever lived, no obstacle could hold him back. Yet, as he considered that line of thought, it only grew more dreadfully plausible. He had been shaken, badly shaken, by his attempted possession of the boy that summer, could it really be that he simply was too... _afraid_ , to enter another's mind so soon? If not that, then, had his Legilimency been damaged by the failed intrusion? Worse yet, and now Lord Voldemort's hands really did clench in equal parts anger and fear, had his _magic_ suffered too?

This was a disturbing thought, and was just one more such thought to add to the growing list of concerns he had to ponder as he planned his next moves, following the inconvenient revelation of his existence at the ministry. He needed to strike, and soon, a symbolic attack, something to show the wizarding world he was back and meant business, but also to show _himself_ that he still had it. That he was still Lord Voldemort, with all that entailed. He would have to lead the attack, when he had decided the form and target, personally, to demonstrate that beyond doubt.

He also needed to figure out exactly what Dumbledore was planning, for he was surely planning something. Lord Voldemort was many things, but he was no longer the arrogant and blind man he had been before this summer. Really, he hadn't been that way since his fall in 1981. He knew the old man was clever, very clever, and never did anything without reason. All the more reason for him to be concerned to see his former favourite teacher back in the ranks of the Hogwarts faculty, and, even more concerning, seemingly establishing a good rapport with Potter. _Perhaps even friendship, and if Slughorn speaks..._ A problem for consideration only _after_ the evidence from Draco arrived, he reminded himself. For now, the wiser strategy was to take things calmly and carefully, and continue to build his plans as quietly as he could.

In the meantime, he would be waiting with impatience for Draco to begin to bring results. Whatever his suspicions about Draco's skills, his loyalty was surely beyond question. After all, the boy had gotten Draco's father captured, discredited his family, and Draco would never forgive that. Yes, he was sure of _that_ much. After all, he smiled to himself again, stroking Nagini's head as he did so, _that was how he would react too_.


	4. Chapter 4: Duelling clubs and regrets

As September turned into October, and the weather began to turn with it, Harry felt that, so far, things had been going as well as he could have hoped. His classes were, with the notable if predictable exception of Defence Against the Dark Arts, all going as well as he could hope, and in the case of potions, better still. That was due in no small part, he mused, to the much better quality of the teaching, as much as the help of the heavily-annotated textbook he had found. He had, briefly, wondered at who, exactly, this 'Half Blood Prince' was, but given Hermione's open hostility to anyone who would even think to deface a textbook, and Ron's repeated mantra of _"who cares? Bad guys don't leave good advice"_ ringing in his ears, he never really thought to pursue it, and in truth, wasn't all that interested himself, either. He got results, after all, and that was the main thing.

Outside of schoolwork, his sessions with Dumbledore had progressed nicely too. Knowing as he now did, the similarities in origin if not in nature between himself and Riddle, had been fascinating, in a morbid sort of way, to discover. But also, he was beginning to understand, _really_ understand, just what Dumbledore meant when he said that, whatever else Riddle was now, in the end, he was only human. No more or less than that. Driven, ruthless and undoubtedly intelligent, probably a genius in a way, but a human being nonetheless, with the mortality and fallibility that comes with that. Yes, Harry was beginning, for the first time, to feel like he just might be able to pull this off, he perhaps actually could _beat_ Riddle. Sure, he had no choice but to do that anyway, whatever Dumbledore might say about there always being a choice, but it was refreshing to think that, at last, he was beginning to take steps to level the playing field, to bring the ball into his own court. With the help of Dumbledore and his friends, of course.

His friends, now, that was another success story, as far as he was concerned. As the weeks had progressed, he had expanded his efforts out. His focus on establishing a good rapport with Slughorn had, as it turned out, not really been necessary, as Slughorn seemed entirely willing to do that on his own initiative, and truthfully, Harry was glad to be able to say he was coming to like the eccentric old potions master. There was something about him Harry just couldn't help but feel drawn to. Perhaps, in some ways, he saw a little, if only a little, of the same sort of kindly, paternal figure he saw in Dumbledore. A different type of paternity from the one Sirius offered to be sure, but just as welcome and just as reassuring to have.

Having so quickly come to enjoy his fireside chats with Slughorn and Hermione, and the meetings of the 'Slug Club' in general, Harry had therefore chosen to begin making efforts to reach out to those close friends he had made the previous years, most particularly, Neville, Luna and Ginny, as well, it goes without saying, as reinforcing his bonds with Hermione and Ron. That was harder work, in a strange way. Somehow, Harry found it easy to open up to staff, or to those older than him, like Sirius, Remus, Mrs Weasley, to name a few. He had thought long and hard about that, and still didn't fully grasp why exactly that was, but it was undeniably so. Not to say that he couldn't open up to his friends at all, but somehow, it was just harder...

As Harry continued to muse, he was distracted quite suddenly by the very fast flying object, that looked suspiciously like a banished paper aeroplane, zooming towards his nose. Deftly, he dodged his head to the side, and the plane crumpled itself into the face of the willow tree he had been lounging under. _Thank you seeker reflexes,_ he thought to himself wryly, _but who...?_

"Oi, enough daydreaming, Luna asked you a question!"

 _Ah, Ron, should've guessed._ Shaking his head in mild amusement, he straightened back up, brushing the dirt from the hand he had steadied himself with, and directed his best McGonagall glare at Ron, who was idly sprawling on the picnic blanket he and Neville had set up when they arrived at the black lake.

"I wasn't daydreaming, git, I was thinking, you know, using that soft squishy thing between my ears" he grumbled, slightly embarrassed he hadn't heard Luna speaking, before sending an apologetic smile towards her where she sat, legs folded and, as ever, feet bare, squashed between Neville on one side, and Ginny on the other, with Ron, and now Harry, opposite them. Hermione had chosen to remain in the common room to, what was it she said? Oh yes, _"Actually do that work thing, you know, the whole reason we're here?"_ He'd had to pretty swiftly shunt Ron through the portrait hole, because, as usual, he looked set to give as good as he got, and Harry, frankly, was looking forward to this Saturday lunch with his friends. Though he wished Hermione had joined them, he knew that, sometimes, she just wanted space to herself. _Much like me._

Luna, again as ever, seemed entirely unperturbed by Harry's inattentiveness, and simply smiled at him, before repeating what had presumably been her question, "I asked if you had thought any more about Professor Slughorn's suggestion? We all think you should go for it, and Professor Flitwick agreed when I asked his thoughts too. He was always a duelling champion you know, I think he secretly wants the opportunity to go against you as a demo to everyone else. He'd probably beat you."

 _Yikes, don't spare a knut for my ego Luna, please, tell me what you really think!_

Grinning slightly at Luna's typical lack of filter, he just shrugged and replied, "Yeah, I've been thinking about it. I'm kinda tempted too, the DA was great fun, but this is different." Even as he said it, he knew that was just an excuse, and a pretty poor one. So, it seemed, did everyone else, as Ginny, with a slightly irritated huff, spoke up too.

"Oh don't be ridiculous Harry, this is no different. All we'd be doing is changing the name of the group and opening it to the school. It's basically the same thing but not in secret, I really don't see why this is such a big deal for you."

Harry had to admit, at least to himself, that she was, as usual, completely right, and the vigorous nods of all others present indicated a clear consensus. Honestly, it wasn't that he didn't _want_ to do it, in fact, he'd really enjoyed the DA, but it reminded him too much of everything that had happened last year, and more than that, he wasn't sure he had it in him. He had, after all, led so many of his friends during that trip to the department of mysteries. _Look how -that- turned out!_

He wasn't surprised that at least one of his friends guessed at least some of what he was thinking, what _did_ surprise him was that it was Neville who spoke up first.

"You do know that we'd all immediately join again, right? Sure, it'd eat up a lot of all our free time, but we're all willing to make that choice, even," and Neville sent a conspiratorial wink to Ron, "Hermione, and you know how she is with time commitments."

"Yeah," Ron chimed in, not giving Harry a chance to respond, "and we'd all be together too, it's not like you wouldn't have any time with us. You've got nothing to lose, mate, I say go for it." As he finished, the others all nodded again, their eyes boring into Harry's.

His own eyes moved across the faces of his assembled friends and he sighed to himself, knowing this was going to be a battle he was not destined to win. Still, he wasn't ready just yet, he wanted to ask Hermione's thoughts, and Professor Dumbledore's, for that matter. If he had their backing, he'd feel obliged to go for it although, he suspected with another wry smile to himself, they'd both back him on almost anything anyway, especially Hermione. _I really don't have a choice I suppose...again! This is becoming far too common._

"Alright, alright guys, I'll _think_ about it, really carefully," and, as both Luna and Ron opened their mouths, cut them off at the pass by saying, "I promise, I'll give you a final answer by the end of the day tomorrow, at Sunday feast. OK?"

He could tell none of them were fully satisfied, but, knowing, he was sure, just how stubborn Harry could be at times like this, they all simply nodded in defeat, and Ginny, looking back at the castle, said, "Fair enough. We better clear up, I'm meeting Dean later." Harry didn't fail to notice, and really, how could you fail to notice, Ron's face begin to redden at the mention of the 'Dastardly Dean', his own personal conversational chew toy, at least until Ginny moved on again, as she probably would. Harry suspected Dean just couldn't offer the rock solid determination and commitment Ginny had and needed, but even telling Ron that had never calmed him.

Everyone was saved another 'Dean' rant though, as Ginny vanished the remains of her food, and was already moving back to the castle, leaving a tooth-grindingly irritated Ron behind with them. _Thanks for that, Gin._

"Come on Ron, she's right, let's go." Neville said, and to everyone's relief, Ron simply grunted, and vanished his own share, before making his way after Ginny. Harry was left to bring up the rear with Neville and Luna, and, as Luna promptly began discussing Nargles for what felt like the fiftieth time that day with Neville, who seemed genuinely interested in the subject, at least, Harry _assumed_ he was, with how closely he was listening to her, Harry fell back into silent thought.

He _would_ think about it, he meant that when he said it, and truthfully, he knew he was already going to agree to it. He just wished...well, he didn't know quite what he wished for. He knew one thing though, he was _not_ going to be leader again, as a minimum, not by himself. He wanted others to teach beside him, people who knew more than he did. Of course, Harry knew why his friends, and probably others in the school, gravitated towards him in the DA. It was simply because out of all of them, he was the one who kept ending up face to face with Voldemort, and he was the one who kept coming back. Of course, his friends were usually there, step by step of that long and dangerous path, and he knew he never would have done it without them. _And that,_ he thought with resolve, _is precisely why they need to teach beside me._

\- Moments that define us -

It was not often that Severus Snape visited the headmaster's office these days. In fact, he hadn't been in here at all for the entirety of the term so far. This was just one more thing that irked him, especially moreso when he _knew_ Potter had been here. Had been here _regularly_ , had been treated not even as a student, but someone the headmaster _respected_. Didn't he respect _him?_ Didn't he _respect_ the man who had risked so much for so long, on behalf of a boy he despised, child of a man he hated? Why had he waited so long, so _damn long_ , to speak to him again?

Severus knew, if he was honest, that his thoughts right now were childish. Dumbledore had already met him several times that term, just not here, but in his own office, or on the grounds for evening 'discussions and walks'. He knew, deep down, the headmaster trusted him almost more than any other, certainly more than he knew he could ever really have earned or deserved. But there was just something inherently, primally _galling_ to know that brat had been here, had been treated with that same respect and trust, and he just would never be able to accept it. He would _definitely_ not accept it, with the request, no, the _demand_ , he was now being presented.

Sitting before the headmaster, Severus waited impatiently for the man to come to his point, in his typically winding and laborious manner. _It had better be a damn good one, too, for this!_

"...So you see, Severus, it's not a slight against you, or an effort to undermine your authority within the school or your class. I simply feel it would be useful for the students to have the extra opportunity for practice and guidance." Dumbledore was, as always, doing his best to be diplomatic and rational. Unfortunately for him...

"And what, precisely headmaster, makes you think that _I_ cannot offer those things? Is my teaching of defence insufficient? Substandard? _Inadequate?_ " Snape was almost spitting in rage and frustration. He simply refused to accept this suggestion!

"Severus, it's not a question of what you can and cannot offer, you and I both know that your time is limited, both by your duties as a teacher, and your...other duties. I simply feel our students ought to have more time to learn, and that a group like this would be a great way to offer that."

Severus knew it made sense, truthfully, he knew it. He knew as well as Dumbledore that, in any event, neither of them had much of a choice. Though he suspected the headmaster hadn't mentioned the fact to Potter yet, or to those _friends_ of his who he knew perfectly well the headmaster had quietly encouraged to push Potter to accept the task. Severus was all too aware the new ministry decree had essentially mandated a heightened state of defence training for all law abiding witches and wizards, even students. The headmaster was simply, in his typically crafty and, Severus grudgingly admitted, even ingenious way, turning the situation from a political mandate to an exercise in character building for his favourite student, and for the students as a whole. _Even so..._

"Headmaster, I can tell I have no choice in this, and I won't waste my breath arguing over the boy any further," Snape paused, noting the raising of Dumbledore's eyebrows that only meant he was waiting for the inevitable demand, and so he delivered it, "but I will accept this only on one condition: I must be involved when I am available, to _assist_ the instruction of the students. It is, after all, _my job_."

Dumbledore, blinking slightly at what he took for an uncharacteristically speedy surrender from Severus, couldn't help but feel a little joyful. He had, anyway, intended for all the teachers to, where possible, contribute to the new dueling club, and he knew Potter would have no problem with it, Severus' presence notwithstanding. In truth, his fear had not been that Severus would resent the blow to his pride, that was, after all, a given, but that he would, in petulant rage, refuse to participate altogether. As things stood now, it was with a smile he reached out his hand and spoke again, warmly.

"Of course Severus, I would have it no other way, and I'm sure the rest of the staff would like to be present too, for the same reason."

Severus, himself blinking at the headmaster's reply, narrowed his eyes slightly at the bright smile on his face, but, nonetheless, sensing he was now committed, he reached out and firmly shook the headmaster's hand, before turning and striding from the office, making sure to billow his cape, for good measure.

As he left, Dumbledore remained stood at his desk, eyes resting on the doorway his cantankerous defence teacher had left through, musing on how well things had worked out. In fact, for a change, it felt like things were going very well indeed.

Fawkes, perched as usual behind his desk, gave a small trill of agreement with his master's unspoken thoughts and Dumbledore, smiling, turned and stroked his plumage, musing, this time out loud, "Ah Fawkes, I only wonder how Harry will take it now. He'll accept it, however grudgingly, but I only hope it doesn't divert the activities of the soon-to-be club to a Potter-Snape sniping session." Trilling slightly more softly, Fawkes dipped his head in what Dumbledore knew was silent reassurance. _Yes,_ he thought, _of course, you're right, Harry is better than that, and so, though he will probably never know it, is Severus_. Indeed, as Dumbledore turned back to his desk and relaxed into his chair, popping a toffee into his mouth for good measure, he felt that, somehow, this might be an opportunity for a fresh start for his two trusted, if somewhat contentious, confidants.

Wincing slightly, Dumbledore raised his arms onto the desk, and stared down at his hands, _both_ hands, and, with a wave of his wand, removed the glamour from them. The black, charred hand that replace his wand hand as he did so made him wince again, this time in disgust. The disgust, though, wasn't at the sight of that deadening part of his own body, but at the memory of the failure that had caused it. He would have to reveal it to Harry soon, he knew. He had a _right_ to know. And yet, Dumbledore still felt shamed by it, by what it represented. By the memories the moment that had caused the eventually to be fatal injury had evoked. That moment would always haunt him, always had. His own personal ghost, one he could never shake.

Sighing, he inspected the progression of the curse along his arm, before reapplying the glamour, and pulling out his next dose of Severus' counter to it. It would slow the progress, but, both he and Severus knew, it couldn't be stopped. He had time, but how much?

Sighing once again, he turned his thoughts away from that terrible injury, and thought once more on his conversation with Severus. He knew it would be hard for Severus to accept but, he hoped, it could, ultimately, prove of benefit to both him and Harry, as well as, of course, the students in general. He just had to make some final arrangements and planning for the club, and it would be ready to go as soon as Harry assented as, Dumbledore smiled thinking on it, he knew Harry would. His friends, after all, would never let him refuse, even if he himself actually could.

 _Now, to inform Minerva, Horace and Filius, and perhaps Hagrid too, after all, Tom never hesitated to bring more than wandwork to bear in his battles._

\- Moments that define us -

As the evening sun set on the castle, on a fine if crisp Sunday evening, a young, dark robed man with freshly groomed hair and an undeniably noble posture, hefted his bags onto the platform of Hogsmeade station, before levitating them, and moving down the forest path towards the gates of the castle.

 _Hogwarts, how strange it is that this place I once hated so much, now feels more like home than anywhere else_.

Draco, musing to himself, as he often seemed to these days, strode briskly but calmly forward. He had no need to send any messages ahead of himself, he knew perfectly well his godfather would be meeting him at the castle gates without the need of a summons, and, truthfully, he was content to enjoy the quiet of the evening, and that liberating feeling of no longer having to look over his shoulder every step he took.

He really was conflicted, utterly torn in two. He knew his master was right, that he stood for him and for all wizard kind against the horde of invading muggleborns and degenerates. _He knew that, didn't he?_

Something had changed though, that night his father was captured, something fundamentally had broken inside him. He saw how the dark lord reacted, he was there as his mother was...punished, for his father's failing, and he knew the only reason he was spared was that his mother took his punishment herself, to protect him. _She sacrificed herself_.

The thought made Draco uneasy, very, very uneasy as he had realised, like the blindfolds being ripped from a man who has not seen for his entire life, that there was so much he didn't know, or rather, so much he had been prevented from realising.

 _No,_ he reprimanded himself, shivering slightly in the crisp air as he accepted it, _he himself had prevented those realisations._

He wasn't stupid, he was willingly blind, and there was a difference. It was the difference between following evil because you truly believe it to be good, and following evil because you refuse to see it for what it is. The difference between ignorance and true complicity. _That_ had been what he had always denied, had run away from accepting. That ultimately, he couldn't blame his father for his beliefs, only himself. And his mother...

He blinked back tears as he remembered her pain, her suffering, how long it had lasted; the ghoulish, leering expressions of amusement on the faces of most of the dark lord's followers, though strangely not the dark lord himself, as they watched his mother's misery. He had done nothing, _nothing_ , to stop it, and the only reason it hadn't already killed him to know that was that, rationally, he knew he could have done nothing anyway. He would be dead, and so would she, and her suffering would have meant nothing.

But he knew, now, that whatever she said outwardly, she was _not_ like his father, not even like him. She had said nothing to Draco as he stood by her bed that night, comforting her, but he could see it in her eyes. She didn't care about her pain, she didn't feel shame for her so-called failure, and she didn't even care about her husband's imprisonment. She only looked into his eyes, and only saw him, safe and whole, and that was enough to calm her. Draco couldn't bear it.

She wasn't one of _them_ , she wasn't like his aunt, or his father, or any of the goons that the dark lord mockingly called _friends_ , she was like he now was, she wanted _out_. But she was trapped, and her desperation to escape only fuelled his own terror. He _must_ obey, he _had_ to protect her, and yet, he couldn't obey, could never bow to the dark lord, and he knew that he would fail in his mission. But still, he had to try, had to buy time, had to find a way to get his mother out, to get them both away, to be free, whatever the cost.

Draco sighed, a crushingly, achingly dull sigh, empty of life and hope and joy, even surrounded as he was by the golden haze of autumn, and the last songs of birds, heading into their nests for the night ahead, chattering to their young, and each other. He heard none of it, heard only the cold voice of his _master_ , saw only the hopeless eyes of his mother, and the journey ahead that could only lead to death.

 _Mother, what are we going to do?_

At last, after what seemed an eternity but was in truth only ten minutes walking, he reached the gate, and as expected, the bat like vision of his godfather stood waiting, black eyes glinting with the usual condescending scorn that was his best mockery of a paternal greeting.

"Draco."

"Godfather."

"Come, you're late."

Turning with a swish of dark robes, his godfather, or Professor Snape, he supposed it was to be now he was here, made his typical over the top drama of the simple act of movement, and Draco followed in brooding silence, mind still circling between _got to get out,_ and, _trapped_. He didn't expect his godfather to speak, he never really did, but surprisingly, his voice, low and muttered, reached him as he turned to face him, stopping suddenly.

"Draco, before we arrive, I must ask you, as your godfather, to be very, very cautious this year."

Draco, surprised, raised his head to stare at Professor Snape, or his godfather, or whatever persona this was meant to be, and didn't reply, just waited for him to continue.

"The dark lord...something is wrong Draco, different. He hides it well, _very_ well, but something has changed since the fiasco at the ministry. I think that this task is very important to him, and for your sake, you had better take it seriously."

Draco, clenching his teeth, very nearly snarled back, in no mood for condescension tonight.

"I _am_ taking it seriously. Don't you think I know what'll happen if I don't, you saw what happened to...to my mother."

To his surprise Professor Snape's eyes lowered slightly at this, before quickly jumping back into his own, this time staring even more intently into his own, and he felt that slight probe of legilimency that he always did at times like this.

"Don't, godfather, don't try it. Not now, not tonight. If you have a question, you can just ask it the hard way."

Professor Snape's eyes narrowed dangerously at this, no doubt angry at Draco's _insubordination_ , but he made no further comment, continuing to stride beside him briskly, eyeing him from time to time. Finally, as they arrived at the castle, he turned once more to Draco and said simply, "Remember what I've said, and if I were you, I'd find some new _friends_ in Slytherin. Those two buffoons you use as bodyguards? Let's just say there's a reason the dark lord chooses the Bellatrixs of the world over the Averys and Notts."

Surprised once again at what, he grudgingly admitted to himself, was good advice, Draco nodded once more to his godfather and, with no further comment, turned and strode through the doors to the entrance hall.

 _At last, I'm truly home._


	5. Chapter 5: Decisions and Revelations

"I'm surprised at you, my boy."

Harry, startled at being so suddenly spoken to, turned his head away from the painting of the centaur, which was doing it's level best to intimidate him by flexing it's abdominal muscles and growling, back towards Professor Slughorn. _Horace._ He was never going to get used to this.

"Er, in what way, sir?"

Horace tutted, raising an eyebrow at Harry's dropping back into formalities in his surprise, but chose to ignore it and continued regardless.

"Really, I had you marked as the sort of lad who'd jump at the chance to be back in the action, as it were. I'm sure Hermione agrees, don't you my dear?"

Hermione, who had been watching Harry intently, nodded with a sly smile. _Yeah, she knows what she's done._ Harry, tilting his head to one side in thought, gave his own grimace and replied, "Well, she's certainly done her best to convince you I'm some sort of combat demon, so I bet she agrees alright."

Hermione gave him a reproving frown, and quickly cut in, "Don't be silly Harry, I've only told the truth, and the fact you've not once corrected me whenever I brought up the Dementors in our third year, to use just one example, proves that you know quite well I'm right. I never said you were a _demon_ , just that you know your way around defence. I shouldn't have to convince you of this again, when you did so well with the DA last year."

Horace, who had been bobbing his head as Hermione spoke, frowned a little as she finished, and asked, "DA? You keep saying that, is that your codephrase for the club or something? Very cloak and dagger, my dear." He winked at Hermione and then at Harry, standing from his chair to move to his drinks cabinet for a refill as he did so. _I count five glasses so far,_ Harry mouthed at Hermione as Horace moved away, and she, giggling quietly behind her hand replied, also silently, _Actually, I counted six_. Harry had to stifle a chuckle at that himself, particularly as Horace, having gotten whatever strange cocktail he'd picked this time, turned back to face them, evidently curious why Hermione hadn't answered him. Harry chose to answer instead.

"Well actually Horace, that was the name of the club itself: Dumbledore's Army." He smirked slightly at the way Horace's eyes glittered with amusement at that, and begin twirling his glass in the way he always did when he was thinking something he shouldn't be.

"Well, well, Albus never saw fit to mention a name. Should make the next staff meeting interesting!"

Harry laughed, as did Hermione, knowing full well Dumbledore would likely pitch himself off the Astronomy tower before Horace had finished rubbing it in. Feeling his mood brighten, Harry shifted in his seat, getting more comfortable, and picked up his own glass of butterbeer thinking on it all.

He supposed it really was time to give in, after all, he'd long decided to accept the new club being formed, and he _did_ read the Daily Prophet, as did Hermione; they knew all about the new laws on student defence, so if he didn't take the job, someone else would. It would at this point just be ungracious not to accept. So he would. _But one condition._

"Alright, let's say I accept," Harry said, and both Hermione and Horace quickly focused their attention fully on him, all previous joviality now subdued, "I have one condition, and to save you asking it's this: I will only do this as the _representative_ for Gryffindor, not the leader of the duelling club. Someone else should do that, I don't have it in me."

Hermione looked positively furious, and as he turned back to pointedly stare at the centaur, who resumed his flexing, avoiding her glare, he waited for the rant that was sure to come. Except it didn't, because Horace spoke first.

"I'm delighted to hear that Harry, really, it actually fits in very nicely with what Albus has in mind."

Harry turned back around quickly to face him, curious now. _This sounds like one of Dumbledore's 'innocent omissions' to me._ "I don't know what you mean, sir, er, Horace."

"Well, my boy," Horace began, spreading his arms in his best effort at looking gracious and conciliatory, _as though whatever's coming were his idea_ , "it so happens we had a quick chat, Albus and I, just the other night." He paused dramatically, evidently gratified both Harry and now Hermione were listening carefully, intensely curious. He did so love captive audiences. "Albus is of the opinion, and I of course, agree fully, that if we're opening this duelling club, we'd need _four_ leaders, not one."

Harry's brows furrowed, thinking on this. He knew Horace was waiting, drawing out their curiosity by forcing the two of them to reason out why four were needed. For once though, he didn't need Hermione to come to the answer first, as it was quickly obvious.

"One for each house, right? 'House unity', is that it?"

Horace smiled wider, as though it were the most marvellous idea in the world.

"Of course, my boy, you're quite right, and from Hermione's expression, I can see she is of the same mind as I am: that it would be a perfect idea." Horace raised a hand at Harry as he made to speak, and pressed on, "Think about it Harry, we're now in a state of war. It may not be _open_ war, what with the dark lord's conspicuous absence so far, but war it is nonetheless. We need a united front to beat such a monster. I of all people," he winced ever so slightly as he said that, "know just what we're up against, as I'm sure do you, my boy. And you too of course, Miss Granger." He nodded to Hermione, who nodded slightly in return.

Harry slumped further back into his chair, mind racing. He knew this made sense, and it was just like Dumbledore to suggest the idea. He supposed it would be pretty tough for the headmaster of all people, to officially sanction a club controlled exclusively by one house over the others. Indeed, he'd faced no shortage of problems in the DA because of the same perception then. But he just _couldn't_ stomach the thought of possibly sharing a club with the likes of Parkinson, Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, and worst of all, the newly returned, freshly washed, pressed and ironed _Draco_. Or as he preferred to be known, 'the boy who cried 'my father''.

Harry stared at Hermione, trying his best to silently transmit his hesitation and concern to her, and to his immense relief, he found her smiling warmly at him. He could tell, as he looked into her warm brown eyes, she had already guessed what was bothering him about it. She didn't speak, but instead leaned out of her chair, and squeezed his hand firmly, staring him in the eye so he couldn't glance away as she said "I know, Harry, I don't trust some of the people in this school either. But you know it has to be this way, and with Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff being there to, er, suppress the excesses of the Slytherin lot, sorry Horace, " she added, anticipating quite correctly the huff of indignation from their potions professor as he sent a baleful frown back at her, though apparently he was still a bit of a, what did he once say? A 'sucker for the eyes of a fair maiden', and so he said nothing. _Hmpf, soft old owl,_ Harry thought. Hermione turned back to look at him and continued, "but with the other houses there too, we can keep this strictly about defence, not about turning it into a shouting match between ourselves, and if needs be, the worst offenders can always be banned, right Horace?"

Horace, still frowning at the two of them, if only half-heartedly as he always enjoyed Harry's embarrassment when Hermione got too close to him, replied shortly, "Quite right, and they will be, we'll enforce that."

"We?" Harry asked, withdrawing his hand, somewhat wistfully, from Hermione's. _And was that a wistful look in her eyes too? Definitely interested to explore that thought!_ "What do you mean, Horace?"

Horace smiled genially in his usual fashion, and spreading his arms wide yet again, he said, "Why, myself and a few other professors will, periodically, be standing in on club sessions. Purely to provide guidance you understand, but our presence will probably, ah, _calm_ any overly excited students too, I'm sure."

Harry continued to think, as quickly as he could, trying to see any holes in these ideas, but he just couldn't find anything too obvious. Sighing with resignation he bowed his head and muttered, "Fine, fine, let's do it. Tell Dumbledore I'll do it."

Horace, positively beaming now, and almost more than Hermione now was, simply said, "Why not tell him yourself? I may have, uh, forgotten to mention that he requested your presence this evening. Possibly, uh, _now_ , or thereabouts."

Harry's eyes shot open to their fullest extent, and he jumped from his chair. _Could've told me that earlier Horace, like, several hours of anecdotes earlier!_ Looking down at Hermione, who looked similarly horrified, though probably more because Harry was sure to be late than because Horace had withheld the information, he reached down and gently squeezed her shoulder.

"I'll see you in the common room later, OK?"

She stared up at him, evidently still frantic, and spluttered out, "Just go! Go! Quick!"

He grinned at her, knowing she wasn't trying to be rude, she was just being Hermione. As usual. He felt briefly like delaying just to wind her up, but deciding he didn't want to deal with an angry Hermione later, he just squeezed her shoulder again, and left the room with a quick mutter of "Bye" to Horace, not feeling like a more formal farewell, given his professor's tardiness in relaying Dumbledore's summons.

As he left, he heard Horace say to Hermione, "You know, he has terrible manners sometimes, my dear, but if you ask me, you picked a winning horse." Hermione's shout of panic and embarrassment, and Horace's booming laugh, echoed in his ears all the way down the corridor, and he couldn't help but smile.

 **\- Moments that define us -**

"Harry, come in, sit, I've been expecting you."

Harry quickly moved from the doorway of Dumbledore's office to his usual seat, _in fact, the -only- seat_ , opposite the headmaster's own.

"I'm sorry for being late sir, Professor Slughorn, er, well I only just got your message."

To Harry's relief, Dumbledore evidently was neither surprised nor annoyed at the news, and, with his usual maddeningly gleaming eyes, simple smiled in response, standing up to approach his pensieve in the cabinet, magenta robes flowing elegantly in his wake. Harry could say many things about Dumbledore, but his taste in robes was simply wonderful, if occasionally 'quirky'.

"I'm glad you've been getting along so well with Horace, indeed, what we're about to view tonight brings us, at last, to the main reason I wanted you to approach him in the first place, and I'm sure you're as keen as I am to unveil that particular mystery."

Harry sat up straighter, fully alert now, and briskly responded, "Yes, sir, what are we looking at tonight?"

Dumbledore straightened up, carrying the pensieve over to his desk, already filled with flowing memories this time, and sat back down, to Harry's confusion. Evidently they weren't going anywhere just yet.

"That, Harry, we'll get to in a moment. Before we start, I had wanted to ask you about the duelling club suggestion. Forgive me for being a broken record on the subject, but I really must press for a response now."

Dumbledore looked apologetic, and Harry was immeasurably relieved he finally had the answer.

"Actually sir, I've already made my choice, and I'll do it."

Dumbledore, for a change, looked lost for words, if only for a moment, before smiling broadly and spreading his arms, in what Harry would've sworn was an imitation of Professor Slughorn if he didn't know better.

"Excellent, Harry! Truly excellent, I'm glad to hear that! We'll have to begin making preparations, but not tonight, our work is too important tonight. Perhaps tomorrow..."

Harry cut Dumbledore off, not liking to do so as it seemed much more disrespectful than when he did it with anyone else, but keen to make himself heard.

"However, sir, I had one condition," Harry said, noticing Dumbledore's face transition from surprised again, to thought, then back to interest, and he didn't interrupt, so Harry continued, "I wanted to share leadership, not be in charge of the club, but Professor Slughorn tells me you were planning that anyway?"

Dumbledore smiled and nodded, "Quite right, Harry, but I want to be clear that this was only a recent decision on our part, not one we'd hidden to manipulate you or anything of the sort. I'm assuming Horace explained my reasoning?" At Harry's nod, Dumbledore continued, "Then there is no need for me to repeat it, all I'll say for now is I want you to consider candidates for leadership of the other houses."

Harry stared intently at the headmaster in confusion, before asking hesitantly, "But, why me sir? It's not my decision to make."

Dumbledore nodded lightly, looking thoughtful, before he responded.

"True, the decision is mine ultimately, and I do have my own candidates in mind, but I was curious. You, after all, have led a club like this before, have seen real battle, and have, whether you consciously know it or not, led friends into dangerous situations and seen almost all of them through virtually unscathed on most of those occasions. That being the case, naturally I want your opinion. Who is better placed to judge the character of the students than one of their fellows, and one so proven?"

Harry couldn't speak as he processed Dumbledore's words, thinking furiously. He simply hadn't thought of it like that, and he couldn't deny the headmaster made valid and, if he was truly honest, completely logical points. He still felt uneasy, _very_ uneasy, about having to even suggest who should and should not be considered 'leadership material', but if Dumbledore had already gotten candidates in mind, did his own suggestions matter?

Dumbledore was watching Harry carefully, and had evidently guessed at some of what he was thinking. _Perhaps stealthy legilimency? No, he wouldn't do that, not after everything, not now._ The headmaster smiled gently at Harry, and spoke softly.

"Harry, though I do retain the right to dismiss your suggestions, don't think or assume I will do that without reason. I want you to consider your choices carefully, because they will be very much valued by me in my own decisions, and ultimately, your choices will, if nothing else, give you an option to recognise the brilliance in others. It's your chance to really _look_ at your fellows, and give _them_ the chance to prove themselves, as you have. Don't make a decision lightly, or simply pick close friends."

Harry, nodding as the headmaster spoke, couldn't help but feel he was right. He would have to be very careful and patient in making choices, especially as he didn't know all that many people from the other houses to begin with. Perhaps, if nothing else, he might find an opportunity to meet some new friends from those houses. _Well, maybe not Slytherin, but can I rule that out either?_

Continuing to slowly nod his head, he raised his eyes from the trinkets on Dumbledore's desk that he'd been idly watching, to look firmly back into his headmaster's eyes.

"Alright sir, I'll do my best."

"That," said Dumbledore, with his customary knowing smile as he rose to his feet, "is all I ever ask of you, and all you ever give me in return. And now, if you'll stand, it's time we had a look at this memory. It concerns our very own dear friend Horace Slughorn, and his student, Tom Riddle."

 **-** **Moments that define us -**

Harry's head was spinning, and as he approached the fat lady's portrait, he felt almost sick to his stomach.

 _How could he have trusted him?_

That same question was stuck in his head, playing itself on loop like a broken wizarding wireless, and he just didn't know how to answer it. How could Professor Slughorn, how could _Horace_ have trusted Riddle? Whatever he had told him, for the memory had dissipated long before Harry or Dumbledore could find out Horace's answer to Riddle's questions, the fact remained: Horace Slughorn had trusted, and confided dark secrets, to Tom Marvolo Riddle, the then soon to be and present darkest wizard ever to have lived, perhaps since Morgana herself. He just couldn't understand _how_ Horace, so friendly, jovial, giving and, for all his Slytherin heritage, definitively _light_ as a wizard, could have trusted what was even then in many ways a sinisterly cold, detached and probably sociopathic student? He couldn't fathom it, and his mind was twisted with emotions.

He stumbled through the portrait with a muttered _'Sphinx'_ to the fat lady to gain entrance, fumbling his way to his favourite seat, feeling sick to his stomach at what he'd seen. He was so distracted by his thoughts, he barely noticed Hermione's presence until he'd near enough collapsed into her lap by the fire, and he only realised she was there at her high pitched squeak, and the indignant yowl of Crookshanks, who streaked across the room, hissing angrily.

" _Harry!_ What on Earth is wrong with you, how did you not see me?!" Hermione yelped, shoving him off her to the other side of the couch. Harry, flushing furiously with embarrassment, but still distracted, muttered an apology, before sinking back into his side of the couch, eyes firmly scrunched up closed, trying to control his emotions.

It took little more than a second for Hermione to sense his mood, and barely more than two for her to quickly move back across towards him and without a word, she wrapped him into a hug, soothing him silently, drawing idle shapes into his back with one hand, a sensation he found unfamiliar, but strangely comforting. He allowed himself to completely give in to that embrace, that reassuring warmth.

They didn't speak for nearly ten minutes, as Harry battled to prevent tears of confusion, frustration and, yes, rage at Slughorn, from coming out. It was testament to years of what he now understood had been abuse by his muggle _relatives_ , using that term with enormous air quotes, that he mastered the excesses of his feelings in fairly short order, but still was unable to speak until, at last, he raised his eyes to look at Hermione.

His mind, the moment green connected with brown, seemed to simply experience a vast, warm, soothing gust of calm air, clearing away the fog of confusion and pain that had descended on it. _This was it,_ he knew, _this, right here, is why I love her, just this, and nothing more_. He'd often thought of it previously as being like a mother's hug whenever Hermione had grabbed him with a squeal at the beginning or end of term, or, perhaps, like two siblings sharing affection. This was different though. He'd never had a mother or a sister, never could thanks to...thanks to the one who was now, once again, _haunting_ his life, his friendships. But he could tell, instinctually, that this was an instant, peaceful, calming sensation that could only come from a romantic, not familial, love. If he was honest with himself as he stared into those eyes, he knew he would have to tell her, sooner or later. Perhaps he would have done now, if the situation were different.

As he thought that, the pain rushed back again and Hermione, noticing the change in the slight movements of his eyes, simply rested her cheek against his forehead, continuing to silently hold him, making soft, reassuring noises.

"Harry?"

A single word, spoken calmly and tenderly, and Harry knew he was ready to answer her unspoken questions, so he did.

"He trusted him, Hermione. _Him,_ Slughorn _trusted_ Tom Riddle, _him!_ He told him something, I don't know what..." he paused, screwing his eyes up briefly again to master himself, before opening them back up and continuing, "whatever it was, it was bad, really bad. Dumbledore wants me to find out from Slughorn what it was, but I just... _can't._ How can I face a man I thought I knew, thought _we_ knew, if he once trusted _him!"_

Hermione didn't speak, not right away, she just watched Harry as he pulled his words and thoughts together, calming him with a warm, soft smile and reassuring touch. Harry's eyes closed slowly, this time, and she chose that moment to respond.

"Harry, I know what that must look like to you now. What it would look like to anyone. But you knew Slughorn had befriended V-Voldemort, you guessed that ages ago. Isn't this just the confirmation of that?"

Harry opened his eyes again, fixing them onto Hermione's, knowing she was right, but he still couldn't accept it.

"There's a difference, Hermione, between suspecting it, and _seeing_ it, _watching_ as Riddle played him, manipulated him, made him give him what he wanted!"

Hermione once again waited silently for a moment as Harry, whose breathing had rapidly increased as he spoke, calmed slowly once more. Once had he, she spoke again.

"But isn't that the thing to remember, Harry? Yes, Slughorn was friends with Riddle, or thought he was. Yes, it seems he told him something, maybe something _really_ dangerous. But you said it yourself, Riddle manipulated him, he played him. You know what Voldemort is like, he could get anything out of anyone, given the time and effort. Slughorn is many things, but he's not evil. If anything, he's too quick to trust those who give him the praise and attention he loves, and that's exactly what Riddle must have done! Harry..."

She paused, watching as Harry considered her words, as the frown that had whitened the skin of his face began to smooth out slightly, before finishing, "Harry, we know Slughorn, and you, of all people, know Voldemort. Slughorn was foolish, he was vain, he was egotistical, and he was keen to please a student he admired, and keen to receive the thanks of what he must have guessed would be an incredibly powerful wizard, an incredibly useful _trophy_ for his _collection_. Voldemort would have had no trouble getting what he wanted from him, and Slughorn...Harry, we've both seen what real evil looks like in wizard...I even felt it" she added, voice small and shaky now, and Harry, for the first time that night, reached out his own arms, gripping her tightly, "Slughorn isn't any of that. He's the man we've both come to like, and if you give him the chance, and ask him in the right way, I'm sure he'll want to make amends for the past. It's up to you if you want to give him that chance or not, but Harry," she smiled at him and looked into his eyes once more, melting the last of the cold block of ice that had frosted his heart and his mind, "I know you. You'll give that chance to him, we both will."

Harry let out a deep sigh and after a few more moments, released Hermione, but continued to smile at her, eyes meeting once again.

"You're right, _as usual_ , I just need a bit more time to think about it."

Hermione smiled back at him, pleased his humour had returned, always a sign he was righting himself, and he continued before she could speak.

"Hermione, I can't really, well, I just can't thank you enough...for this, tonight." She smiled at him brightly, moving her hands to wave his thanks away, but he grasped both her hands in his, and pulled them to himself, looking firmly at her again, reinforcing his feelings. "I mean it, there's so much I owe you, and I've made a few decisions lately, as you've noticed." She smiled softly at that, knowing how true that was. "So I'm making another one: I want you and I to go to the room of requirement this Saturday, just us, no one else. I need your help, I've got a few decisions to make thanks to Dumbledore, and more than anything else..." he smiled at her, this time showing real nervousness, but to his pride, added boldly, "I'll need you there if it's going to be a date."

She didn't speak, she couldn't do anything really, and to her even greater surprise, _he didn't even give her a chance to respond!_ He just turned, strode up the stairs to his dorm and with a last wave back, went to his bed for the night, leaving behind him a dazed, surprised, emotional Hermione and, though she had yet to notice it, the creeping approach behind Harry of a very quiet, very stealthy, very _angry_ kneazle. It was going to be a very painful night for the friend of Crookshank's master, _very_ painful indeed.

 ** _AN: Thanks to all for the reviews so far, it's a real encouragement to see such positivity, and I hope I can continue to earn it :)_**


	6. Chapter 6: The First Strike

"Ow! Watch it, Ron!"

Harry, rubbing his arm furiously, gave Ron the dirtiest look he could, the painful stinging flaring back to life as Ron pulled Harry's arm out of the bowl of essence of murtlap he'd been resting a good half of it in, to inspect it.

"Sorry mate!" Ron said, not looking at all sorry, and in fact, looking like he was struggling instead not to laugh, "I just wanted to see if it was as bad as you're making it out to be!"

Harry, resettling his elbow and forearm back into the bowl, sighing as the pain subsided again, continued to give Ron a dirty look before replying, "What, the fact Hermione was so quick and eager to make this up for me wasn't a clue? _You_ try getting mauled by that monster of hers and see how bad it is yourself next time!"

Ron couldn't hold it in any longer it seemed, and began guffawing loudly at Harry, who huffed and turned away. _So much for being there till the end, mate._ Vowing to remember this, Harry sighed again, and decided to ignore Ron for now. This was a bad idea, as immediately he began to recall Crookshanks' vicious and, in his not too humble judgement, entirely unwarranted assault on his good self. Really, being accidentally sat on was no excuse to get the claws out. _Seventeen times_ , he added to himself, reinforcing again his mental note to _never_ sit on Hermione or her pet Raptor ever again.

It seemed Ron had finished enjoying himself, which was a nice change, and looked at Harry again more seriously this time. "Seriously though mate, what the _hell_ did you do? Crookshanks attacking me is one thing after all the shtick I gave him in third year, but he always liked you!" Ron's eyes widened slightly as he spoke, before quickly narrowing into mischief, and he added with a lopsided grin, "Ooh, are you trying to steal his spot as Hermione's favourite? Not smart, mate, not at all."

Harry, eager to avoid _that_ subject in particular, chose instead to divert Ron's attention, and as the threat of the library wasn't really available while he was bowl-ridden, the threat of Hermione might do the trick.

"Speaking of, where is she? She's been changing for about half an hour now, and even for her, that's unusual."

Ron shrugged, obviously aware what Harry was up to judging by the still present smirk, but choosing, most likely, to pursue it at a later date. _And a more embarrassing moment, I'm sure_ , he again amended to himself mentally. "Eh, you know what girls are like, insane. Probably wants to try on new socks or something and is resizing them over and over. How should I know?" Ron scratched at his nose, looking a little bored now that Harry's war injuries were fully explored, and looked around the common room, before getting up from his seat.

"Anyway, the guys are meeting us in the great hall in a bit, I'm gonna head down there, can't stand watching Hermione get all embarrassed about this anyway," Ron said, smirking yet again and Harry grumbled, before Ron continued, "I'll see you down there in a bit?"

"Yeah, won't be much longer I think, I'm only meant to use this stuff for twenty minutes at a time anyway, according to the Oracle" Harry said, employing their new favourite codeword for Hermione with a smile, "I'll see you down there."

"Sure, later mate." Ron turned and moved out through the portrait hole, though not without giving a chirpy hello to a few of the girls nearby. _Still thinks he's Casanova, that one, when he's more like Charlie Brown_. Harry smirked, adding that thought to a list of defensive strategies for the next time Ron tried anything, and settled back into his seat, waiting for Hermione.

He recalled how flustered she'd been as he'd come flailing down the stairs to his dorm not long after going up the previous night, with what seemed to be the world's strongest and fluffiest shark latched onto his forearms. If he hadn't been in so much pain as the little...darling scratched down to the bone, he'd have found it cute, maybe even a bit funny. As it was, it just hurt. _A lot._

Choosing to continue to idly daydream, he remained staring into space until, a few minutes later, Hermione finally made an appearance, though to his relief, the ginger terror was nowhere to be seen. _Probably celebrating his victory with a nice nap, how -lovely- for him!_ Hermione came to a stop in front of him, face reddening almost immediately as she stared at his arm, before reaching down to gently remove it from the murtlap, _without evening asking first,_ he thought with a smile, and began examining him.

"Hm, looks fine now, but it'll probably be a bit red for a day or two," Hermione said, doing her best to avoid his eyes entirely as she spoke, and vanishing the murtlap before he could try to soak himself into it again, "and that's quite enough of that for now, we're already late for breakfast."

Harry groaned, partly because of the absence of Murtlap, but mostly because he now realised why Ron wanted to go ahead first. _Bet my dear, soon to be departed 'best mate' is giving them all a play by play commentary on just how the great Harry Potter, survivor of Voldemort, was almost assassinated by an over-zealous and entirely unreasonable Kneazle!_ Thinking that, all thought of remaining in the common room evaporated and he got to his feet, pulling his sleeve back down and, forcing Hermione to meet his eyes, simply said, "OK, let's go, and don't worry about it Hermione, it's fine. Thanks for the Murtlap."

Hermione said nothing, but flushing slightly again, nodded quickly and they both made their way swiftly down to the great hall. _The question isn't who will say something first, the question is: how will I restrain myself from a good flipendo to the face!_ Harry thought, as they left.

 **-** **Moments that define us -**

As Harry and Hermione entered the great hall however, and made their way to join their friends at the table, Harry noticed immediately the mood was not at all what he was expecting. Their faces were all pale and drawn. Neville looked ready to throw up, as did Ron. Ginny looked absolutely furious, and while he couldn't really read Luna's expression, he surmised she must be feeling more than a little queasy too.

Trying valiantly to bring the mood up as they approached their friends, Harry called out, "Hey guys, what have you all caught? Is it infectious?" He did his best to smile widely at them all, but their faces remained glum, and nobody laughed. _To be fair, nobody usually does, but this is just downright creepy._

"Guys?" Hermione asked, giving Harry a brief look of reprimand, and then scanning over the faces of all present, worry written into her features, "What's happened?"

Still, nobody spoke but Ron, motioning at the two of them to sit down, pushed a copy of the Daily Prophet over to them both to read. Harry's heart sank at the headline.

 **Dementors revolt! Defences breached! Azkaban empty!**

Harry couldn't speak as he read this, nor it seemed could Hermione. It was just too much to take in at once. True, they'd both concluded in their chats with Slughorn, and Harry's own sessions with Dumbledore, that something like this might happen, but it's a different matter to see it there on the front page, staring you in the face. It seemed Voldemort had made his first big move.

Assuming the article likely simply confirmed the headline, he looked round at his friends, doing his best to reassure them with a look, but paused as Ron reached across and tapped a part of the article in front of him, and both he and Hermione bent down to read it.

 _ **Following the discovery of the absence of Dementors, Aurors immediately carried out the standard procedure in times of crisis and visits were carried out to the homes of all prominent figures in our society. This paper regrets to inform it's readers that not only did he-who-must-not-be-named seem to have personally negotiated the surrender of Azkaban by the Dementors to his forces, but he then subjected all prison guards to the Dementors Kiss, leaving them to be found when Aurors arrived, chained in one of the confinement cells, their absences reported by some of the families visited earlier that day.**_

Harry couldn't control it, he pushed the paper back away, hard, unimaginable anger rising up inside him, but something even worse too: helplessness. _He just walked up to the front doors, asked for the keys, and gave the Dementors a bloody coin for their service!_ If Voldemort could so easily have brought over an entire race of dark creatures to his side, what more was he going to do? And those guards... He scanned the article again, searching for any sign of a name he recognised amongst those kissed, and though he was relieved to find none, he still felt a massive sense of loss. These were people with lives, families, a past and, until a few hours ago, a whole future ahead of them. They were meant to be part of the most secure fortress wizardkind has ever built, and Voldemort just _walked in and took it_. And now they would never go home, would be worse than dead.

Harry couldn't take it, he couldn't stand feeling so helpless and he stood from the table, grabbing Hermione's hand as he did and pulling her with him.

"C'mon Hermione, we need to move up our schedule."

She stared back at him in confusion, blinking back tears, "But Harry, what...?"

He didn't answer, just walked away with her, and it was testament to how horrifying what had just happened was that nobody watched them go, not even Ron, all the students in the hall were simply sat staring at copies of the paper, and quietly murmuring.

"He's really _back!"_

"What are we going to do?"

"I thought Azkaban was safe, what about Hogwarts, are we next?!"

That murmuring rang in his ears all the way to the seventh floor and, with Hermione in tow, now realising his earlier meaning but remaining silent and clearly thinking hard, he marched up and down in front of the room of requirement, furiously thinking:

 _I need a place we can talk in secret, where we can make some plans._

At the third pass, the door appeared, and he quickly stepped through it, Hermione almost attached to his back as they moved in. The room had chosen a simple appearance this time around. It was a plain, dark blue colour with a large table in the centre set with two chairs and various collections of quills and parchment, and a small couch to the side with what seemed to be a coffee table of some description, and a large shelf of books beside that.

Moving over to the couch he and Hermione sat and he placed his head in his hands, thinking still quickly, but a little more calmly now. He had to shake himself out of the easy pace he'd been moving at so far this year. He'd made progress on some fronts, but if he was honest, he'd been taking it too slowly, lulled into a false sense of security by Voldemort's conspicuous absence. But he was absent no more, and people had died now. Now it really was time to get serious.

He turned to Hermione to speak, and found her looking at him, watching him closely, evidently intending to speak. As he had nothing really coherent in terms of ideas in his mind yet, he let her go first.

"Harry, I know you're angry, I am too, _really_ angry, but we have to stay calm." She paused to give him a moment to respond, but he remained silent knowing she had more to say, and already having at least concluded the same thing as far as being calm was concerned. "We couldn't have stopped this Harry, and you _know that_!" She raised a hand as he opened his mouth furiously to respond, and the emphasis she put on the final words drove home what he knew was true, he really couldn't have done anything, perhaps even Dumbledore couldn't have stopped Voldemort and his death eaters alone, or even with the Order behind him.

He nodded at her after a few moments, indicating he was calm and waiting for her to continue and, smiling slightly now for the first time, she continued. "I think we need to focus on the things we _can_ do, Harry. We _can't_ go out and fight Voldemort and his henchmen in a one on one duel. We _can_ take steps to help others be ready to defend themselves, and maybe in the process, gather others like us, willing to fight back with the Order and the headmaster, and the Aurors too of course."

Harry nodded slowly as he considered this, realising where she was going and said, "So, should we do what we originally planned then? I still have the list of candidates for leadership with me. Maybe we could draw up ideas for potential partners too at the same time?"

Hermione smiled at him again, grasping his hand lightly for a moment to emphasise her agreement, and she said, "That's my thinking too, though we must be sure to run all this past Dumbledore later. After all, we're talking about recruiting students, kids like us, and it has to be their choice, and they have to know what they're signing up for."

Harry nodded, smiling back himself, and patted her shoulder.

"You are, as always, right, Hermione." He paused, remembering his words from the evening before, and added softly, "I'm sorry this won't get to be a date, I was really looking forward to it. Maybe another time?"

Hermione smiled widely back at him, clasping his hand on her shoulder beneath both of hers very briefly, before replying, "It's OK Harry, I was too, we'll just have to do it another time."

Nodding at her words, Harry stood and moved over to the table, Hermione rising behind him, and began moving some parchment into place, and passing a quill over to Hermione from the centre of the table. Taking a seat in the surprisingly comfortable wooden chair at the centre, he turned to look at her and, with a wry smile said, "Well then, let's get brainstorming!"

 **-** **Moments that define us -**

Lord Voldemort stood at his usual spot by the fireplace of the Malfoy master bedroom, still riding high on the elation of his success. It had, of course, been an inevitable success, but even so, a victory is a victory, and to the victor, the spoils.

He had expected the Dementors to join him quickly, had expected Azkaban to fall quickly. It was the perfect choice for his first real message to the world. It was a hugely symbolic victory, it brought to his side the most terrifying creatures native to these islands, and all with a risk that was virtually nil. His power remained visibly intact, without him having to even lift a finger to actually use it. _And that was the real brilliance of this move_. He smiled at that thought, he still impressed even himself sometimes; truly, the simplest solutions often were the best. But even so.

His smile lowered slightly, as his thoughts turned to the one hiccup, the one _wrinkle_ in the events as they had turned out. True, the Dementors treated him with respect, even admiration, and his negotiations had been brief and virtually one sided. He, after all, was giving them nothing that he himself cared for; a few souls here or there was not his concern or his business, and what he got was the most effective tool yet to terrorise his enemies. No, what bothered him was that he _still_ felt physically drained and his power, though clearly still magnificent, was not so _overpowering_ as it had once been. The Dementors had sensed that, he knew, and though they made no moves to indicate they knew or cared, he could _tell_ they sensed it. Bedding down in the southern European forests with the darkest creatures on earth has that effect on a wizard, as he had discovered; it gave you unique insights, and a perception for power in others, as well as their perception of your own. He mused that perhaps he was the first to recognise this admittedly vague, if no less highly useful ability, as he was likely the first in millennia to share such close soul to soul contact with dark beings, but it was not as though he could publish his findings, nor would he. No wise man shared an advantage with potential foes. Still...

Drawing and centering his thoughts back on the issue at hand, he frowned more deeply at his reflection, idly fingering his wand. _His wand..._ He raised his eyes to meet those of his reflection, and now his thinking quickened. Perhaps that was the problem? He was no master of wandlore, and yet he was sure he had read in his many studies that sometimes, a wand might simply cease to obey a master. _Especially if it sees the master as failing to use it effectively_.

How to explore this new possibility? He didn't know, and he wasn't one to act hastily after all, his wand _felt_ no different, and responded to his power with the same eager hunger it always had. But still, this was a line of thinking he'd always seemed to overlook. What if the solution wasn't the wand, the _tool_ itself, but rather, the way he was _using_ his magic?

He paced quicker, thoughts really beginning to race now as he considered the evidence. He was physically drained yes, but not physically _weaker_ , potions and rest had seen to that. Nor was he mentally damaged, and his horcruxes remained intact, so far as he knew. Certainly Nagini was here, and he had checked on the cup via Bella. That _idiot_ Lucius got his diary destroyed, but other than that... It might do though, to check the others too, he was not about to rest on his laurels. Besides those factors though, what was the problem, the _pattern_? There had to be one. What was it that caused his power to feel like it was draining?

 _Ah._

And there it was, the common denominator: _every time he cast a spell, he felt a physical pull of power from himself._

It still made no sense at all, none whatsoever and yet, now he saw the problem, he saw it _everywhere._ In every spell he cast. It was why he had, instead of delighting in punishing Narcissa, simply felt angry and confused at the sense of _loss_ he felt as he cursed her, it was why the Dementors reacted so slightly but noticeably whenever he used his magic to speak to them. It explained almost everything...

He stopped pacing, turning now to the four poster bed, and to stare into the slitted eyes of his faithful pet.

"Nagini, you and I are going on a trip, I have some old acquaintances to meet." Nagini hissed an assenting reply, as always, and curled onto and around him, head resting lightly against his own. He stroked her softly, musing before vanishing in a mass of black robes, whirling quickly, "And, perhaps, a new plan is in order."

There was no crack, no sign he had left and Malfoy manor stood, as ever, silent and still in the dark evening mist. Only the robed shadows, long, thin, boned hands twirling through the murky darkness, seemed to notice that the black heart of the manor had vanished for the night. After looking up at the windows briefly, they turned back to the surrounding forest, flowing silently into it, dismissing the change, for they had their own fun ahead.

 _The terrors of the night were on the hunt._


	7. Chapter 7: Three vows plus one

As the autumn came to an end, and winter began to arrive in earnest, the sharp chill in the air did little to reduce the sense of pent up tension and anxiety in the school. If anything, the rapidly darkening days and evenings seemed only to throw the recent catastrophe into a more threatening light in that way that all worries, big or small, accelerate in the quieter, darker hours. When the silence is itself your enemy, allowing your thoughts to grow louder, more persistent, and infinitely more daunting.

This was as true of the thoughts of Harry and Hermione as it was of anyone else. What should have been a simple task of selecting representatives for a school club had taken a more pronounced sense of importance in light of the realisations that the Azkaban breakout had forced upon them both, and on the school in general. Harry in particular, felt quite keenly the sense of responsibility for picking what could well be the people who would organise the training of those who would soon have to fight in the real world, rather than in corridor scuffles and exam practicals. It was an enormous task for anyone, even him and he found that, although of course, the headmaster had final say, he still had a hard choice to make.

It was made no easier that for both he and Hermione, the list of candidates had been, in general, rather short. After all, they knew few students within any of the other houses and though, for instance, names like Bones, Abbott, and, yes, even Malfoy, had quickly come to their notice, they were only a handful of what were hundreds of students they potentially could choose from.

Hermione, being Hermione, had suggested they simply do something practical, like take a copy of the list of student exam results for the previous year and shortlist from the top of those, but Harry had, not without a good discussion first, convinced her to drop the idea. As he knew himself, and so did she when she admitted it to herself, there was a marked difference between knowing a library's worth of spells, and knowing when and how to use them, how to combine them, and having the physical reflexes and mental prowess to combine your magic with speed and tactics to outwit your opponent.

So it was that Harry now made his way to meet with what was, finally, their shortlist of the most promising leaders and, as ever, he had chosen the room of requirement as the venue. It had been Slughorn's suggestion and though Harry had thought of it himself, he still appreciated the helpfulness his potions master seemed always to try and provide. It had taken time, a lot of time, to really come to grips with Slughorn's past, but in the end, they had resolved it.

 **\- Moments that define us -**

" _Harry my boy, you've been avoiding me!" Slughorn, cornering Harry outside the great hall as he left dinner, boomed out in his usual, jovial manner, but with concern evident beneath the veneer._

" _Professor Slughorn." Harry replied, flatly and without any of his usual warmth or, for that matter, jokes at Slughorn's expense. He noticed Slughorn raised an eyebrow at his tone but, saying nothing, pulled Harry aside to an empty classroom just off the hall, setting him firmly in a chair and giving him no opportunity even to protest, much less resist as he started to speak._

" _Now, what's the matter lad? It isn't like you to be so rude and Hermione has been very worried about you, yes sir, very worried indeed!"_

 _Harry's attention, as he later reflected was no doubt intended, was caught by the mention of his best friend and, the first real emotion passing across his face since Slughorn had greeted him he asked, with a tone that was clearly attempting to remain flat but with worry creeping in, "Hermione, sir? How would you know that she's worried?"_

 _Slughorn raised both eyes this time, surprise evident, and responded as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, "Why, she told me so of course, in fact, she's told me so every time we've met since you stopped coming by!"_

 _Harry said nothing. He hadn't known Hermione had been to see Slughorn and he felt briefly angry, betrayed, that she would talk about him behind his back. And to Slughorn, of all people. He'd thought she understood!_

 _He didn't notice until Slughorn's hand gently reached his shoulder that Slughorn had been watching him closely for the moments he'd remained silent, and as he raised his head to protest, stopped at the sight of the emotion in his potions master's eyes: pain and regret, if he read it right._

" _Harry my boy, your young lady friend is smarter even than you know, I think. She told me, well, I suspect very much not -everything-, but enough to guess at why you've so suddenly abandoned our chats together. I want you to know that I have done things in my long years, many things now that I think on it," he said with a small chuckle, before growing serious again and continuing, "that I have long since regretted. You've been talking to Dumbledore frequently, and I'm no fool, my boy." Harry smiled for the first time, if only very slightly, at how observant his potions master was. Slughorn, evidently encouraged, continued gently, hand still resting on Harry's shoulder._

" _I know he must have shown you that... that memory he damn near tore from my head when I returned here this September. I had guessed he would show you it eventually. He never tells me much about what is happening with you, but it doesn't take a fool to know he has plans for you, and it would make sense he'd want you to know your enemy. In that way, he's a Slytherin as much as he is a Gryffindor. Although, perhaps such house distinctions are largely empty, anyway?" Slughorn scratched his chin lightly with his other hand in thought for a moment, before shrugging and meeting Harry's eyes again. "A thought to pursue at another time. Still, he's teaching you how to fight my boy, I can see that, and it was to that end I encouraged you to accept his plans for you. I have grown rather attached to you, you know, and would rather you left this war, if not in one piece, at the most in two."_

 _Harry really did smile this time. Slughorn's humour never failed to get through to him, even now, and it pained him to admit he missed their chats, though only now did he realise how much. Well, perhaps he had known all along, but refused to acknowledge it. Slughorn continued, regardless of Harry's growing feeling of shame._

" _My boy, I want to be completely honest with you here. I have kept things from you." Harry's body stiffened, ever so slightly, wondering how many more times he would have to hear those six words in his life to come. It was extremely -tiresome-, and he was fed up with it. Sensing Slughorn's intention to explain himself however, he didn't interrupt. "It's true, I was once friends with, well, with he-who-must-not-be-named. Don't look at me like that Harry, you're not winning the name battle this time. Well, at any rate, I thought I was friends with him, thought I had him all figured out, but as it turned out..." Slughorn paused again, sighing and breaking eye contact to stare at the blackboard at the front of the room, eyes roving it's surface for a few moments in thought, before he sighed yet again and turned back to Harry. "Well, you know him better than I ever did, I think. Harry, I can't and won't ask you to trust me again completely, nor do I expect forgiveness, though I hope it can be found in you. I wanted instead to show you my sincerity by giving you, for a change I'm sure, the information you want and need."_

 _Harry's eyes widened rapidly as Slughorn took his hand off his shoulder, opening the pocket of his ever-tweed robes to pull out a small vial containing a single, shining white thread of memory, and he didn't need to ask what it was. He reached out to take it, but Slughorn held tight to the bottle, bringing his other hand up to grasp Harry's firmly, and spoke to him again._

" _Harry, I only ask you to do me one favour for this," Harry's eyes narrowed slightly again but Slughorn, disregarding this, continued, "remember that what you're seeing here, and what no doubt, Albus will be seeing too, is a much younger, much more naïve, much more -stupid- Horatio Slughorn, at the moment of the worst mistake of my life. I ask you only to remember that, even after the most horrendous failures, people can always change. They may even surprise you how much, my boy."_

 _Harry, staring into Slughorn's eyes for a few moments longer, slowly nodded and Slughorn released both him and the vial now clasped in his now shaking hands. Here it was, the key piece of evidence he and Dumbledore needed, he just knew it, and could scarcely wait to find the headmaster. He did, though, speak to Slughorn once more, before dashing through the door._

" _Professor Slughorn...Horace...thank you. If you'll have me, I would like to be there with Hermione next time you meet, we're way overdue a fireside chat. I'll give you your second chance, but only if you'll agree to give me mine, for my own stupidity."_

 _Slughorn said nothing for a moment, stunned into silence for the first time this evening, before smiling widely at Harry and, arms stretched into his patented posture he said, positively glowing with pleasure, "Of course my boy, of course."_

 _With a quick, excited nod and a genuine, warm smile, Harry turned and dashed from the room, racing to the headmaster's office._

 _At last, they would know just what Riddle had done and, perhaps, how to beat him._

 **-** **Moments that define us -**

So it was, as Harry entered the room of requirement, his candidates already waiting and being served, to his surprise, tea by none other than Dobby. The only elf in history, by his own estimation, to have protected a master by breaking as many of his bones as is possible with nothing more than a bludger and maniacal determination. Harry smiled slightly at that memory, but it quickly became subdued. Not just because of the stares of the three assembled students but also because, as he looked at them, he was reminded yet again of how young they were, how young, he supposed, he was too. This fight might be too much for any of them, if Slughorn's memory proved true. After all, a dark lord with genius and a flair for violence is bad enough, but how were they meant to beat a technically immortal demon?

Tilting his head slightly to one side as though to tip the depressing thoughts inside it onto the carpet beneath his feet Harry moved forward, wishing already Hermione were here as backup. But ultimately, it was his decision and she herself, as she had reminded him, reminded him _ceaselessly_ , not to put too fine a point on it, had said: "You'll be more likely to gain their trust, or at least their respect and forthright honesty, if you don't turn up with backup to meet them while they are alone."

He had supposed she was right, and as she had blankly refused to change her stance despite his pleading, it wasn't as though he had much choice but to accept it anyway. Even so, as he took a seat across the table in the centre of the room, the same one it seemed, that he and Hermione had been using for the last week, he felt himself, to his surprise, beginning to feel more at ease as he looked back at them. Well, at two of them anyway.

Directly opposite him sat the likely choice for Hufflepuff, and though it had been a close call, Susan Bones was the one sitting in that spot tonight. Red haired, with a warm if somewhat distant smile, she was a girl he'd known of during his time at Hogwarts, and one he'd often times wished he'd had more time to get to know, if her reputation was anything to go by.

This was partly a choice informed by the fact he knew her aunt was a formidable witch, and a ferocious fighter herself. Those skills may well have been passed down to Susan during childhood lessons, which would be very useful. More than that though, it was because, of all the students he'd asked about the Hufflepuff shortlisters, her reputation stood out the most for one simple reason: everyone trusted her opinion. She was respected and recognised as a firm but always consistent and reliable friend, a strong willed and quick minded girl with, apparently, a strong grounding in principle. All qualities he valued himself and which, he judged, would be essential to lead the badgers. After all, they'd only ever really followed behind one leader in his time, and those qualities Cedric, his heart tightening ever so slightly as he remembered the former champion and, briefly, friendly acquaintance, had embodied almost completely. Susan, then, was pretty much a foregone conclusion, and just a matter of, as he thought of it, 'formality', if you could call this such a thing.

Beside Susan, to her left, sat Padma Patil. Dark haired, brown eyed, and with a striking if, admittedly, predictable resemblance to her twin, Parvati, he remembered her most of all for her very, very unsuccessful date with Ron at the Yule Ball two years prior. To be fair, his own date had hardly been a resounding success, what with his own attentions distracted both by then-crush Cho Chang but also, though he hadn't realised it till much later, Hermione too. He still felt shame at how much he and Ron had ruined the twins' evenings, and he hoped Padma didn't hold it against him too much.

Smiling ruefully to himself in his mind he cleared his thoughts a little, recalling that Padma, who had been particularly resistant to meeting him here, was known to be a much sterner presence than her sister, and a little more haughty too, unfortunately. Her personality in some ways left much to be desired on that front, however, what was clear was her academic and dueling excellence. The former of course, came naturally to a Ravenclaw, but the latter he had only learned as they'd trained her in the DA. Certainly, she was not the most talented witch in the room then, perhaps not even here and now, if Susan's own possible dueling skills were as they were rumoured to be. But undeniably she was strong willed and resourceful and to his mind, Ravenclaw most respected a leader they felt was up to the task of making decisions, as much as actually fighting her ground. He hoped she'd prove to meet that expectation.

Lastly, and he shuddered internally at the thought, their _volunteer_ from Slytherin. Their only volunteer, incidentally, for lack of deserving or, perhaps more accurately, willing candidates.

 _Draco Malfoy, how wonderful to see you again._

Harry could scarcely believe they had let Malfoy back into the school after the events of the summer. The thought that here was the son of the man who led the men that got Sirius killed, and so many of his friends badly hurt, had, when he first realised he'd come back, been a source for many rants, and a lot of pent up aggression. He'd wanted nothing more than to hit Malfoy squarely in the face with his fist, long before even thinking of drawing a wand, and he still, even now, couldn't believe he'd been convinced to bring him here.

Truth be told, he'd had little choice. There were no other volunteers from Slytherin, and his attempts at nominating both Greengrass and then Zabini had been dismal failures. In fact, he'd been lucky Zabini's omnipresent companion whose name, by the way, he _still_ didn't know, had let him leave without trying to curse him. He wondered again what, exactly, it was about him that seemed to make Slytherins treat him the same way your average person would treat a cockroach in the bathtub. _Hm, musings for another time, I suppose_.

So, in the absence of volunteers he'd been forced to bring Malfoy. He had still fully intended not to, and to simply leave the selection for Slytherin to Dumbledore. But then Malfoy had, much to his disbelief, approached _him_ first, just the night before.

 **-** **Moments that define us -**

"Potter. A word, if you please"

Harry, turning with a feeling of utter disbelief, found Draco Malfoy, prince of the damned, stood before him, glaring at him with ill-disguised contempt. _I don't believe it, this is like a fly walking into an Acromantula nest, is he actually as stupid as he looks?_ He was about to turn on his heel and storm off before his anger got the better of him, when Malfoy did the truly unbelievable.

 _Did he just grab my arm?_

Harry shook him off and turned to face Malfoy, disbelief written across his face, and Malfoy quailed, slightly, at the fury mixed in with it.

"Did you just grab my arm?" It was meant to be a question, but sounded much more like the growl of a wild animal. _In fact, much like an angry Crookshanks, a sound I'm now all too familiar with,_ he reflected with a bizarrely out of place feeling of humour.

"Don't get excited Potter, we need to talk, follow me."

"We? Talk? Follow? Have you developed Dementia? Do you not remember who I am? Why the _hell_ should I follow _you_ anywhere?"

Malfoy glared back at him for a moment, idly passing his hand across the pocket where, no doubt, his wand was concealed, before replying bluntly.

"Fine, don't bother, but you'll have a hard job getting anyone for Slytherin in your little _club_ without me involved."

This did get Harry's attention, and he considered a similarly blunt and spiteful riposte. _Something about grease, ferrets, and leadership springs to mind_. Thinking better of it he decided that, anyway, it would be best not to have a fight somewhere Snape could slither over to find them and stop them before Harry really got to give Malfoy a piece of his mind.

"Fine, lead on, Lord Malfoy."

Malfoy snorted, once and with disdain, before simply striding ahead, leading Harry through the corridors. _Where is the sarcastic reply? Surely, even with his father being too busy with death eater duties, he must have servants or something he can threaten me with?_ This just wasn't like Malfoy to turn the other cheek and Harry was really curious now, almost enough to forget who exactly he was following. _Almost_.

At last, they reached a classroom on the third floor, not far from Fluffy's old haunt, come to think of that, and Malfoy took a seat at random, motioning Harry to sit opposite. Not appreciating the dismissive command implied in that gesture, Harry chose to be the better man and simply sat, arms folded waiting for Malfoy to start, and give him a reason to shut him up too. _With any luck._

"Alright, here's the deal." Malfoy leaned forward, toward Harry, who backed away slightly, not at all comfortable with Draco Malfoy of all people invading his personal space. Glaring a rebuke at Malfoy as he moved back, Malfoy completely ignored him and continued speaking regardless.

"You need someone to head up the Slytherin training, yes? I'm offering to do that."

Harry blinked slowly at Malfoy in a wonderful impression of Hedwig, he thought idly to himself before frowning, surprised not at the forward nature of Malfoy's 'offer', but the lack of arrogant condescension that usually came with anything Malfoy chose to say.

"Well, that's real generous and all, _Malfoy_ , but in case you hadn't noticed, this isn't 'Death Eaters Anonymous', it's a duelling club intended to fight the bastards, much like your dear old daddy."

Harry was not feeling charitable and chose to be direct and blunt, in truth itching for a chance to provoke and then fight Malfoy. It probably wouldn't release the anger and guilt he still felt for Sirius' death, or the injuries of his friends. _But damn it, it wouldn't hurt either, for me anyway!_

Malfoy simply sniffed, literally waving the comment away with his hand before calmly continuing to speak, and Harry really was flummoxed now.

"Save it Potter. I don't care what you say or think about _my father_ ," he paused, and Harry's eyes really did widen now. _I expected anger, but that sounded like it was directed at his -father-, not me._ He really was curious now and so didn't interrupt, allowing Malfoy to press on. "All you need to know is this: I can lead Slytherin. I have my own reasons to do that and, frankly, you won't find anyone else who can do it. They respect me, you know that as well as I do."

Harry was really, really confused now. He didn't reply straight away, thinking Malfoy's words over. It was true, he admitted to himself bitterly, there really had been no other candidates for the job. Truthfully, hate him though he did, he couldn't deny Malfoy was no fool and when he wasn't being an ass, was an effective rallying point for Slytherin students. But there was still that one, glaring, _snake-faced_ problem.

"OK then, let's say I humour you," Harry said, nothing Malfoy's eyes narrowing warily as he spoke, "you _might_ be a suitable candidate, I'll admit that, but there's a big problem. _We don't accept Death Eaters_." Harry sat back, smirking at Malfoy. After all, that was a pretty much an irrefutable point.

Malfoy smiled.

 _Oh, that's not good._

Malfoy's hands fumbled with his cloak.

 _OK, that's -really- not good. Also creepy._

Malfoy began pulling his sleeves up and Harry's eyes widened so much they threatened to jump out of their sockets like one of the old cartoons he had seen at the Dursley's when his aunt and uncle were out of the house.

 _He's not marked._

Harry almost reached out to grab Malfoy's arms to check for sure, but was saved the job as Malfoy first turned his arms around completely, then cast a revealing charm to prove there was nothing hidden there. He didn't think the dark mark could be hidden by illusions anyway, but still...

"What, they're not accepting kids yet, then?"

Harry couldn't let it go, even despite the absence of the mark. _After all, that only proves he's uninitiated, it doesn't mean he isn't involved_.

"Ignoring the irony of the childish effort hidden in that remark to annoy me Potter, no, they don't and anyway, I'm not part of them, as you can plainly see." Malfoy glared at Harry, despite his high horse comment, and Harry was left with his thoughts whizzing around his mind. Then it came to him, the flash of inspiration, almost Dumbledore-like in its' simple genius.

"The unbreakable vow."

"What?"

Malfoy's eyes widened in surprise for the first time, and Harry knew he'd finally seized the initiative here. _Weren't expecting that were you, ferret?_

"You heard me. I'll put you down for consideration, but you have to vow on your magic and life you aren't now, or intending to be, a death eater. Do that, and I'll invite you in."

Harry sat back in his seat, smugly satisfied that he had Malfoy, as the delightful phrase went, by the 'short and curlies'. He was trapped and would have to give in. _Which made it so upsetting..._

"Fine."

Harry near enough fell backwards onto the desk behind in surprise. _Did he just agree?!_ Trying to again regain the initiative he spoke, suspicion laced through his voice.

"I'll perform it with my wand. No tricks. You can't weasel out of the vow because I'll be speaking the terms." He smiled again, confident that _now_ he had the power here, at last. _But that damn ferret_.

"Also fine, in fact, you have to be the one to speak the terms to begin with, that's sort of how the vow works, Potter." Malfoy smirked slightly as he finished.

 _That damned greaseball, since when did he grow a brain?!_

"Fine!"

Harry jumped up, reaching his arm across the table. "Then let's do it! Since you know how it works, I don't have to tell you you hand me your arm, not your foot, right?"

Malfoy again, and most infuriatingly, simply smirked back and, without answering, placed his arm into Harry's own. _Let's make this absolute then, time for Lord Malfoy to be Lord Squib!_

"Do you, Draco Malfoy, vow that you are not, and have never been a death eater, either in fact or in thought?"

"I do."

Harry's eyes widened in total shock as the light of the vow curled around their arms. _He's still standing, and I can still feel his magic!_

"Do you, Draco Malfoy, vow that you will never join the death eaters?"

"I do."

Another flash, another vow, and Harry was almost ready to collapse. _It just can't be!_ But, relentlessly, he pressed on with his last move, sure it would get him this time.

"And do you, Draco Malfoy vow that, in joining this dueling club alongside me, you will teach your fellow students with only the intention of keeping them safe, never to recruit them for Voldemort?"

Malfoy's eyes flinched slightly at the mention of the dark lord's name but, his voice firm and confident, responded once again.

"I do."

As the vow sealed itself between them, the light fading, Malfoy's smile small but growing on his face, Harry couldn't help it. He collapsed to his seat, head in his hands. No longer angry, just shocked beyond words. _It just doesn't make sense!_

 **\- Moments that define us -**

So, here now sat Draco Malfoy, bound by unbreakable oath and very much still in possession of his mind, powers and life. Harry didn't know what to make of it, not at all, and though he was still suspicious, after all, he had hated Malfoy for half a decade, he knew it was no longer rational. He just didn't see how Malfoy could be a death eater now, and though he'd love to ask Hermione's opinion on the vows, he hadn't. She'd have killed him if she knew he'd done it. _Hey, it's not like I expected the little ferret to agree!_

Shaking his head to clear his mind of all that, he focused again on the three students before him.

"Well, you're all here because I've invited you, or you volunteered in one case, to help tutor our classmates as part of the headmaster's dueling club initiative. I won't bore you with the tedium of details on lesson plans and so on here and now because, of course, you've not yet actually signed the dotted line. Speaking of which, I have the membership lists here for us all to sign. I just wanted to ask you if you're still willing to do it?"

Susan, sitting directly opposite him still, smiled warmly and nodded, the eagerness radiating from her and he rather suspected she was eager to 'get on with it'. Deciding she, at least, needed no convincing, he passed the Hufflepuff members list over to her to sign her own name and turned to Padma next, who was frowning at him.

"You still haven't really explained what we'll be doing, Harry."

Harry, pleased at least she was a rare example of a student who didn't address him by his last name until they were on good times, smiled as warmly as he could. _It's nice not everyone in this school seems to take Japan as their inspiration for social niceties. Not that I'd mind being Potter-san, mind you. Or Sensei._

"It's pretty straightforward really Padma, we're not teaching as such, the purpose of the club is, like the DA as you'll remember, just primarily to brush up everyone's skills with a wand. While the teachers will be introducing most of the new spells and the theory, our job is mainly just to help with the practical side. Checking wand movements, adjusting accuracy, encouraging physical movements and evasion. All that sort of stuff."

He continued to smile at her but she simply looked at him thoughtfully, doing a very good impression of Hermione with the way she bit her lower lip as she thought. He'd almost find it cute if his heart wasn't already committed as it was.

"Well, I suppose that's not so bad, and it won't bite into our own study and personal time, I assume?"

"Not really. Outside of the weekly sessions, we don't really do much more than attend a warm up meeting beforehand, to find out which professor is attending and what they'll be teaching."

She nodded at him, face clearing a bit more of the concern it'd shown and she nodded again towards the parchment beside him, so he passed her the Ravenclaw list. _Which just leaves..._

"Potter, no need for any words, just give me the damn list."

 _Ah, charming as always, you should work for a dating hotline or something ferret._

Harry didn't comment, just passed the sheet for Slytherin over to Malfoy, before collecting the signed pages back and pressing his wand to them, sending them to Dumbledore for final confirmation. Truth be told, he wasn't sure how exactly Dumbledore could revoke the choices now that they'd signed on to them in writing. _Then again, would it be so surprising if Dumbledore lied about needing to approve them himself?_

Harry shook his head, deciding he'd had enough headache-inducing thoughts about the mysteries of Hogwarts for one term already and instead, standing from the table, reached across to shake the hands of all three of his now fellow duelling instructors, even Malfoy's. _And he had to admit, the manicure was clearly a good investment, if Draco's nails were any indication. Wait, why the hell am I thinking that?! BAD THOUGHTS!_

Deciding not to show or voice what he'd just thought he smiled at them all and said, "Well, sorry for all the drama for what was a pretty short meeting, I'd really expected more, uh, resistance really."

It was Susan who spoke, smiling at him like a mother watching a wayward child try to figure out a simple toy, "Oh Harry, you should have known all three of us, even Draco here, had already as good as agreed just by showing up. We just wanted to see the famous room of requirement again, really. Well," she said with a smile, winking at Padma, " _some_ of us did anyway." She laughed lightly, an oddly musical noise, and Harry couldn't help but smile back brightly. He felt he was going to like Susan.

"I suppose you're right, I never was a great thinker."

Malfoy snorted, but surprised him once again by failing to comment and Harry, deciding he was tired enough for one day, bade them a good night and, thanking Dobby for the refreshments as he popped in to take them away, made his way out of the room, back to Gryffindor tower.

 _Really,_ he thought, as he strode back with a small smile, _I can't help but feel that, though we've barely started, things are looking up. With Susan and Padma and...yes, even with Draco of all people, maybe we can make this into something truly worthwhile. Maybe we'll really show Riddle a thing or two!_

And yet, as he thought the cheery thought, it was with a wistful sadness that he reflected to himself that even with the best of people, inevitably, some would be hurt, maybe die, and it was all he could do, all anyone could ask of him, and a measure of the character of Harry Potter, that he meant every word as he made his own unbreakable vow to himself:

 _No matter what, I'll fight to the end, even if it's me against the world._


	8. Chapter 8: All he ever wanted

With Christmas rapidly approaching, Harry's time was still largely dedicated, when not to schoolwork, almost entirely to his new responsibilities. In fact, he'd rarely stopped to spend any time doing anything else at all. If he wasn't tied up with preparing himself for the next duelling club, he was bracing himself for the next slug club meeting. The fact Slughorn seemed determined to set the dates of those meetings the very next day after a duelling session didn't help either, and it was usually a very exhausted Harry who welcomed the return to classes after the weekend with open arms, as a reprieve from everything else. He did feel a little guilty at how little time he'd had left for his friends amidst it all, but he knew he was doing the right thing and so, grudgingly, did his friends. Even Ron. _Eventually, anyway._

Now with a week to go until Christmas itself, and the castle preparing to empty, there was only one more duelling session to go until January. Harry could barely contain his excitement for the chance of a break although, as Hermione pointed out, it was only for two weeks. _Charming girl, that one._ Still, he'd take what he could get.

It wasn't, to be clear, that he didn't enjoy the duelling club. In fact their first month, or coming up for that anyway, had been action packed and pretty interesting. They'd covered a few different types of magic each lesson, and the input of the teachers had been absolutely invaluable. _With one notable but typical exception, of course._ He still got, as an example of the success, gratifying compliments from his fellow classmates in the corridors about how well he'd handled the Thestral Hagrid had brought into the great hall in their first lesson, which had begun to run about the hall in a panic at seeing so many students in such a small space and had required a lot of coaxing by him and Hagrid to calm it down.

He had to admit, it was the first time he'd felt _grateful_ to be able to see a Thestral, given what seeing them required you to witness. They had a ghoulish appearance in many ways, but they really were quite friendly creatures, if very shy, and he saw more than a little of some of his friends, particularly Luna, in them. _Not that I'd ever say that of course. Never give a girl an opportunity to misinterpret a comment on her personality as a comment on her appearance; a Thestral certainly would not be a comparison much appreciated!_ Still, he'd really taken a shine to the Thestral herd after that lesson, and was pleased to have volunteered to help Hagrid take the one he'd brought in back to the forest.

Of course in that instance some students, usually but not exclusively clad in green-trim robes, had sneered at the 'uselessness' of Thestrals. This prompted him, in frustration, to remind them all that without the Thestrals, he and his friends could never have reached the ministry in time back in the summer. Of course he didn't mention the fiasco that had turned out to be since there's no need to ruin an otherwise reasonable argument after all, but the point was clear: a broom isn't always the best choice and Thestrals have several advantages. Notably their silent flight, agility and ability to blend into the night sky. Hagrid had positively beamed at Harry after that comment, once the hall had fallen quiet in contemplation and, eventually, agreement.

To an extent many of their lessons were like this and honestly, if it wasn't so exhausting, he'd be fascinated as he watched the sessions progress from what had been planned as simple basic training in self-defense to a surprisingly comprehensive, if very concise, discussion not just of how to perform magic, but how to actually put it into use effectively.

Now, Harry stood in the nearly empty great hall, helping to clear away the debris from the final session. The hall was strewn with all kinds of leftover Honeydukes sweets, as well as covered in scorch marks and various assortments of leftover spellwork ranging from conjured mice hiding under the tables at the sides of the hall, to a small forest that had sprouted towards the back when Ron's latest effort at a tactical manoeuvre had ended more than a little disastrously. _In fact, it ended up a 12 foot tall pine tree disaster, with Ron firmly stuck on the top of it._ Thinking on it, it could be Ron had done that on purpose, Christmas spirit being what it was. Actually, now he _really_ thought on it, it's more likely the twin demons taught him that spell, almost certainly with the intention of leaving Ron a literal angel at the top of a tree. A very red faced angel, but still, angelic in a way.

Smirking to himself at the thought, he managed to catch the last of the mice and box them away before returning to the front of the hall where Susan, Draco (he'd grudgingly agree to refer to Malfoy by his first name, in exchange for the same in return), Padma and Professor McGonagall, who had been supervising the session, were talking quietly.

"All done Professor. If we're done here, I'll head off?"

McGonagall turned to look at Harry, a rare smile lighting her features up as she peered at him over her glasses with her usual mix of affection and sternness that she seemed to reserve for him, Hermione and Ron. _I suppose we have caused her a lot of trouble of the years...sorry!_

"Certainly Mr Potter. Before you go though, might I have a quick word in private?"

Surprised Harry simply nodded, bidding farewell to his classmates, before following McGonagall to the opposite end of the duelling platform they had set up where the teacher's table usually stood. Sitting down close to the edge of the platform, McGonagall motioned Harry to do the same, which he did, well trained as he was at this point.

"I just wanted to say, Harry, that I was very impressed with your work this term, and not just in Transfiguration. I had some reservations about the headmaster's idea, but the collective leadership seems to have worked well. How have you found it?" She was still smiling, if only slightly, and Harry didn't fail to notice the sudden and unusual use of his first name. Feeling using _hers_ would probably still be poor form, he responded as he normally would.

"Thanks Professor. I think it's worked well, better than I had hoped too. I wasn't sure about some of my choices," and at that McGonagall's eyebrows raised slightly, clearly knowing without asking whom he was referring to, "but all three of them have really gotten behind the idea and Susan especially has really taken to it. I'm glad we've done this."

McGonagall nodded, smiling a bit more broadly at him now, and Harry felt the tension he normally had around his stern professor ease considerably, even smiling back himself.

"Those are largely, hints on personal issues with one student notwithstanding, my thoughts too, and I know the headmaster is proud of you all. I'll be talking to the others about this too of course, but felt you'd probably each like to hear this privately. Somehow, I think it makes it easier for us, the staff that is, to express our sincerity when we talk to you face to face like this."

Harry continued to smile at her, nodding his head slightly at her observation in agreement, before she hummed to herself, very gently, and continued.

"At any rate, that's really neither here nor there, there was a second reason I wanted to speak to you alone."

Harry's eyes widened slightly, concern now rushing into his features and McGonagall, spotting it, tapped her finger on his forehead lightly, gently reproving.

"Nothing as bad as _that_ Mr Potter. Actually, I was asked by our mutual friend, Miss Granger, to send her, I believe she phrased it: _request for your presence_ , along to you. She's waiting in: _the usual place_ , apparently. All very cryptic, and though I don't appreciate being used as an owl for students, I'm making an exception for the two of you. _Just the once, mind you_." Sternness crept back into her features, but Harry could tell she wasn't really reproachful. Smiling again he nodded, thanked her for the message, and made his way out of the hall with a final wave to the other three, making his way to _the usual place_.

 **-** **Moments that define us -**

Entering the room of requirement for what felt like the hundredth time this term, Harry wasn't surprised to find Hermione on their usual couch, and was even less surprised she had a small library stacked on the table beside her. _Unquenchable thirst for learning, that one._ It was a very endearing trait, but not one he shared really. Still, keeping respectfully quiet, knowing she'd already be aware of his presence but likely too keen to finish the chapter she was in to look up, he moved over to sit by her. Leaning back, he let out a quiet sigh feeling drained, if pleased, by all the progress he'd made. There was a long way to go, but things finally seemed to be moving along nicely.

He looked across at Hermione who was still intently leafing through her book, which he now realised was a relatively new copy of _Fiendfyre: Uses and Abuses_. She was, as ever, still in research mode then, he reflected wryly to himself. Though in truth he was glad she was so persistent. Without her efforts along with Dumbledore, they'd never have come so far in the battle to find a new way to destroy the horcruxes.

 _The Horcruxes_.

Now there was a thought he had no intention of pursuing with much enthusiasm tonight. No, he wanted his christmas break, and as Riddle had conveniently decided to be absent again in recent weeks, he saw no reason to worry _too_ much about the horcruxes for the moment. After all, since they still had little idea where to find them or what they were, it would be a wasted effort.

"Hello Harry."

Harry looked beside him to find Hermione was still buried in her book, but had a small smile on her face, which was enough to bring his thoughts back to more pleasant thoughts. He answered brightly.

"Hi Hermione, anything new in there?"

Hermione, sighing slightly, shook her head and, marking her place in the book, closed it with a small snap, placing it onto the pile beside her before also leaning back into the couch, rubbing her eyes blearily.

"No, not yet. It's definitely a viable option for destruction, but as far as making sure it doesn't run out of control..."

Harry nodded, giving her a reassuring, or so he hoped, pat on the shoulder, understanding all too well her frustration. He and Dumbledore had settled on Fiendfyre as the most reliably available method of disposing of the horcruxes. The sword of Gryffindor was, after all, not all that convenient to use in a tight spot, and so they had picked Fiendyre as their backup plan. Trouble was, it was damn near impossible to control once released.

"We'll find a way Hermione. Or," he smiled roguishly, giving her a nudge with his elbow, "you will anyway, you always do."

Hermione laughed slightly, nudging him back, before settling back again, leaning against him, and mumbling disagreeably for a moment before responding.

"I wish that were true, but this really does seem impossible to control. I know you said Voldemort controlled it well at the ministry, but we don't exactly have his dark magic knowledge or contacts to find out how he does it...nor am I sure I really want to know, for that matter."

Harry nodded slightly, understanding completely her thoughts on that score.

"Fair point. Point is, we'll get there, it's just a matter of time."

She smiled slightly wearily and closed her eyes to rest them. As she did so, he couldn't help but follow suit. After all, he _was_ so tired...

 **-** **Moments that define us -**

Harry opened his eyes blearily, unable to focus and yawning widely.

 _Where...oh, right, must've dropped off. Silly really, should have expected that._

He prepared to shake himself more fully awake when he realised that Hermione was still with him, curled up with her legs underneath her on the couch leaning heavily into his side, her left hand balling up the front of his robes.

 _Oh, well, guess I'm not moving then. She really -does- look just like a cat when she sleeps like that, no wonder Crookshanks likes her so much._

He chuckled, softly as he could, at the thought of the bandy-legged terror and continued to watch the top of Hermione's head, deep in thought, as her back rose and fell softly with her breathing. It was a wonderful feeling, having her so close to him, and the warmth would be enough to send him back to sleep again, if he really wanted to. Somehow though, he was content just to watch her, thoughts idly running over everything they'd done that term, all the progress they'd made. _Together._

Of course, they'd had support and friendship from Ron and the others to count on, but there was no denying Ron had, Harry reflected a little sadly, been somewhat in the spectator seat lately, preferring to spend time with the others. Of course, they still spent a lot of time together, and he felt confident their relationship hadn't changed so much as Ron had backed away for a time. _If I didn't know better, I'd say he wanted to give us more private space...how uncharacteristically sensitive, if true._

Smiling to himself at what he presumed to be the thoughtfulness of his best friend, he continued to let his mind wander. Really, they'd made enormous progress this term. Slughorn was on side, and they'd even gotten his memories much sooner than even Dumbledore had hoped, as he'd told Harry proudly when Harry brought them to him. Even better though, Slughorn had turned out to be more than an asset, but a real companion. A _friend,_ even. Harry realised he'd been very fortunate that Slughorn had turned out to be the kind of man he was, and was very glad indeed that Dumbledore had brought him back.

Besides that, there was the Voldemort front. Of course, that still worried him. Always would until the snake-faced terror was gone for good, but they had plans, and though they had a long way to go, he had the sense of genuine progress being made there. He hadn't failed to notice though, not only the reported absence of Voldemort since the breakout, but also the fact his scar was utterly silent. Not a single pain or throb in months. Not since the ministry, come to think of it. _Actually, why didn't I notice that before? I better ask Dumbledore about that next month..._

Still, on the whole, things had been going well, very well in fact, which just really left one issue still open.

 _Hermione_.

Focusing his gaze on her fully now he watched her breathing softly, and, as it always did, the protective and fierce spirit emerged inside him as usual when he was with her. He felt he could freeze time at this moment and remain here with her forever, and even after a thousand years, he'd still be smiling as fully as he was now. It was a wonderfully fulfilling feeling, and he really had never felt anything like it, not even with Cho.

 _Especially not with Cho, thinking on it. What on earth did I see in her?_

Cho wasn't a bad girl by any stretch of the imagination, but she had never been _his_ sort of girl. Too much crying, too much self-pity and melodrama for his taste. Though, to be fair, he could face the same charge on the latter, and perhaps he'd even agree. Really, it just came down to the fact that they weren't compatible people and never would be, even despite her renewed 'interest' since they'd duelled together during one of their early club sessions. That confused him still, for her 'feelings' to re-emerge so suddenly, but he didn't give it much thought. He had better things to think of.

 _Such as the bushy haired, ridiculously cute girl, curled up with me now._

Reaching one of his hands down gently, he couldn't help but be seized by the comparisons to Crookshanks, at least the good ones and without even thinking about it, very gently began stroking her hair. To his surprise, she gave a small noise of content as he did so and, feeling a thrill of happiness at her response, continued to stroke her hair softly, murming small, nonsense noises as he focused his thoughts on her. Her warmth, her soft scent, her deep, expressive and completely _understanding_ eyes.

"I really am doomed."

It still surprised him how far gone he was and yet, there it was, the simple fact stated out loud. Wait, _out loud?!_

He stopped moving his hand briefly, carefully peeking to see if Hermione had heard him, but her only response was a clear grunt of discontent, so he quickly replaced the hand. He couldn't help it, he gave a soft laugh as he did so.

"I could do this all day, and it looks ridiculous."

Still, ridiculous or not, it was fulfilling, and strangely, he didn't feel bad at all doing this while she slept beside him. After all, it was _her_ clutching to him tightly. _Even if she was sleeping_ , he reasoned to himself, _you don't do that sort of thing if you hate someone_. And, really, he usually rubbed her head anyway when she was upset, just as she did for him. _This is just a natural thing to do._

After what seemed only moments but could have been hours, Hermione stirred gently, and Harry looked down again to watch her wake, rubbing her eyes slightly as she released her grip a little, but continuing to play with her hair softly.

"Mpf, what time is it? Harry?"

He smiled at her now wide eyes, first filled with confusion, then recognition and, lastly, embarrassment.

"No clue Hermione, we've been here a while though."

"Oh.." she murmured looking somewhere over his shoulder, clearly still a bit dazed. After a moment, she looked into his eyes again. "Harry? You're stroking my hair."

"Sorry!" Harry jumped as if bitten, moving his hand away in guilt, not having realised he was still doing that, but was surprised when she grabbed his arm, still watching him, and smiled softly.

"It's fine. I like it actually, just don't do it around Ron."

Harry blinked, shocked for a moment before, as though it were completely normal and natural, resuming stroking her hair, smiling softly.

"I'll be sure not to."

"Good."

They continued to look at each other, both thinking idle thoughts, not wanting to move. After a few minutes, Hermione spoke to him again.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"That date we missed. Is Christmas eve OK? I figured we could, well, I don't know what we'll do really, but I'm staying here this Christmas while my parents head off to America, and...well, what do you think?"

Harry really was stunned now, but recovered rapidly, smiling so much his cheeks actually _hurt_.

"I think that's a brilliant idea, and I'd love to do anything really. We could even read." He added the last with a sly smirk, and she growled at him playfully before nodding her head, smiling up at him. Then, to his immense surprise she leaned up to him and, very tentatively, her nervous breath flowing across his cheek, placed a small kiss there.

"Then it's a date. Just don't sit on Crookshanks again and I'm sure we'll have fun, whatever we do."  
Harry, truly out of his depth here, really didn't have any answer to give, though he did nervously laugh at the last comment. _That bloody Kneazle will get sat on before this year is through, that's for damn sure!_ Still as he looked at her, her own face reddenning at what she'd just done, he knew how to respond. Leaning down himself, he gently kissed her cheek in return, and was rewarded with the brightest shade of red Hermione Jean Granger would likely ever go.

"Then it's settled."

Rising, with no shortage of regret, from the couch, he held out a hand to her and, helping her to feet, he suppressed his nerves and smiled brightly at her, hope and no shortage of the beginnings of joy soaring through and around his heart like the crest of an enormous wave crashing around the shore; exhilarating and explosive.

"We'd best get back, don't want Crookshanks to think I've kidnapped you."

Hermione, taking his hand, her own smile returning though still slightly flushed, smiled brightly back, firmly squeezing his hand as she spoke with a laugh.

"Oh my, best keep this a secret from him then, or you'll end up his newest scratch post."

Laughing together they made their way, hands still joined, back to the common room and for the first time in weeks Harry slept soundly, peacefully and, for the first time in a _long_ time, felt truly, completely happy.

 _This, right here, is all I ever wanted._


	9. Chapter 9: Never alone again

Christmas Eve could scarcely come quickly enough for Harry and, though she hid it better than he did, Hermione too. He'd still not really figured out much of a plan for the day, and decided in the end to settle on just doing much the same things they ordinarily would. After all, it _was_ freezing outside at the moment, and with Hogsmeade on edge since the Azkaban escape, remaining in the school itself seemed very appealing.

It was particularly quiet in the halls now, with almost all the students having returned home over the course of the previous week. Ron and Ginny had, of course, returned to the Burrow, though both expressed regret he and Hermione wouldn't be joining them. They chose, wisely in his judgement, not to tell Ron why they were staying when he asked. _Repeatedly, I might add_. Luna was home with her own father, and Harry had personally not even asked what she would be doing as he was reasonably sure it would involve at least five things he'd never heard of, and had settled with just wishing her well. Neville was at home with his own grandmother, and then likely to visit his parents.

That thought made Harry a little sad. Really, he'd often felt that, though he knew the pain of losing parents, it was somehow much worse to have them still living but unable to recognise you. Still, Neville never gave up on them or on his own efforts to improve himself, and Harry felt nothing but admiration for him, and had told him just that as they'd all parted earlier that week.

As Harry continued to hover between anticipation and, jarringly, melancholic thought, he heard the approaching light footsteps that could only mean Hermione was coming into the common room. He listened to the approach, but heard no clattering of claws on stone steps so at the very least, Crookshanks remained upstairs. Still, he checked quickly under his own chair, just in case. The little...cutie had taken to lunging at Harry's legs whenever he sat down in the common room, and he was on constant edge these days.

 _I keep telling her that ruddy Kneazle understands everything she says to him, but she goes and makes him jealous by talking about me anyway!_

While it was nice to think he made _anyone_ jealous at all, he'd rather they didn't come armed with thick claws and a very bad attitude. Sharing a room with Crookshanks had become more dangerous than ever and he was, frankly, a little sick of it. There wasn't much he could do though, Merlin forbid Crookshanks be accused of wrongdoing in Hermione's presence!

Speaking of her, she now arrived in the common room and he was relieved to see that she, like him, had chosen to wear their usual jeans and thick jumper combination. He'd been worried this would be an awkward day initially, but quickly realised it's hard to make any moment awkward when you've been friends with someone for going on six years.

 _Especially when you start the friendship by sticking your wand up a troll's nose. Hard to top that for awkward conversation starters, I suppose._

"Hey Hermione, Crookshanks is staying upstairs then?"

"He is, you can take your shields down, Captain." Hermione smiled cheerily at him, though with a hint of knowing mischief, as she replied.

Harry laughed, glad that, out of almost the entirety of Gryffindor tower, he was one of the few who even remotely knew what that was a reference to.

"Yes ma'am, ready to go?"

"Sure but where to, exactly. Anywhere in mind?"

"Well, our choice is limited, and since we spend enough time in the common room as it is, I was thinking we could walk through the grounds?"

"You, uh, you _do_ realise it's about five above zero out there, right?" Hermione looked at him as though he'd announced he was joining Slytherin and spoke slowly, as though unsure of his sanity. Harry just chuckled in response.

"That's why we have magic, Hermione. Really, I'm surprised you've never thought to just use a warming charm during the winter whenever you went outside." He smirked slightly at the scandalised look on her face and she blushed slightly, evidently furious that she hadn't thought of it first.

"Since when were you the brains of the outfit? Fine then, but if we end up frozen..."

Harry just smirked again, waiting for her to finish huffing and puffing as she cast the charms on her clothing and he did the same, before extending a hand out to her.

"Shall we?"

She still looked a little cross but huffed again once more, before reaching out to him too, lacing their fingers together.

"Lead the way."

 **-** **Moments that define us -**

They'd walked for around half an hour across the snow-covered grounds and to Harry's satisfaction and pleasure, the walk turned out to be a better idea than he'd been hoping. The glistening snow, sparkling in even layers across the grounds made for a wonderful picture, with the pure white trees of the forest swaying slightly, and puffs of powdered snow flowed through the air around them.

First they'd stopped by Hagrid's hut, paying him a quick visit and a hello, before ending up at the black lake. Harry had, thinking ahead, brought a few blankets with him and using a good deal of warming charms had melted a patch of snow and set them down, also suitably warmed up. It meant recasting the charm periodically but it was a reasonable solution and Hermione had, eventually, relented and complimented him on the idea. A rare honour indeed.

Now, they sat looking across the frozen lake, watching the few small birds that remained hopping about through the hedges and plants beside it, plainly reinforcing their nests with whatever twigs they could salvage. Harry wondered, vaguely, how the Giant Squid made it through the winter with the surface frozen over. Then again with how deep the lake was, it was probably doing just fine. He remembered all too well just how far down the lake went, and was sure there was plenty of space for the squid to hide away from the worst of the cold down there.

Thoughts still idling with Hermione now leaned against him, propped up against his usual favourite tree, they both sat in silence for a few minutes after settling down there just looking across the landscape before them, until Hermione spoke.

"Harry?"

"Mhm?"

"I was just thinking..." she shuffled slightly, turning to look towards him and he pulled himself fully out of his thoughts, as something was clearly bothering her. "I never did tell you much about my life did I? Before Hogwarts, I mean."

Harry thought at that and to his surprise realised she was quite right.

"Your parents were, uh, dentists, right?"

Hermione nodded, smiling slightly and evidently pleased he remembered even that small detail.

"Yes, and I think that's about all I've ever really told you, right?"

Harry thought hard on it before nodding, realising she was right. Come to think of it, he wasn't sure he'd told her very much of his own home life. Although that was probably a lot less pleasant of a story to tell, and one he didn't really like to share to begin with.

Hermione nodded, mostly to herself, Harry thought, before turning to look back over the lake, clearly thinking, and Harry waited for her to speak again.

"My home life was never really all that exciting, especially compared to you and Ron, so I guess it never seemed like it was worth talking about. Seems weird though, to be out with a guy you like, and not having told him anything about yourself." Harry opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off, "I know what you're thinking, you're a bit too predictable for your own good after all." He smiled ruefully at that comment but knowing she was right, let her continue as she turned back to the lake, smiling slightly.

"At home, everything was, well, pretty much a normal life. I'm an only child, like you, so I never really had to put up with the sibling rivalries Ron does, and had my parents to myself. It's nice, really, but sometimes a bit lonely."

Hermione sighed softly, looking a little sad now, before continuing.

"Especially when I was at school. Like Hogwarts, I seemed to just understand almost anything we learned. I was the first child in the class to write my name, or so mum tells me, and the first to get to write with a pen, due to my neat handwriting." Harry smiled a little at that, he loved the odd little details Hermione sometimes seemed to bring up. "But, really, I hated school."

That did surprise Harry. _A lot._ Sensing she was going to continue without being asked, he simply waited for her to explain.

"It was, well, truth be told it was like it was here that first month after we started. Except in the muggle world, I lived through that for years."

She turned back to him now and he was surprised by the depth of the sadness in her eyes. He'd known how upset she'd been when they first got to Hogwarts, but her eyes held a lot more pain than he would ever have expected.

"Hermione..."

"Quiet Harry, I need to get this off my chest, please."

Harry promptly closed his mouth, though her tone held no hostility or anger, only sincerity.

"You, I think, might be able to understand it a little. I thought when I got my letter it was my way out. It explained so many strange things in my life, but more than that, it was an opportunity to go somewhere new, a whole new world, really. A chance to change the way things had been, to really connect with people _like me._ "

Harry did, for different reasons, know what she meant. He himself had traded one terrorising influence in his life for another although in his case, he was still undecided whether he hated and feared Vernon Dursley more or less than Riddle. _Jury's still out on that one._

Hermione started speaking again, looking at him still, but not really seeing him, clearly lost in reflection.

"Then I met you, _really_ met you. When you and Ron stopped that troll, it was something I could never have expected, or hoped for. Someone, who wasn't my parents, had cared enough to save me from a literal monster from a children's book."

Harry smiled a little sadly as she spoke, remembering the events all too well.

"Wasn't my idea of a good time I must admit, Hermione, but I'd do it again without a thought."

She smiled widely at him and leaned in closer to him briefly, expressing her thanks without speaking, and remained silent for a few moments more before speaking again.

"After that, I felt it didn't really matter anymore how things had been before all that. The fact I had almost _wanted_ the troll to end things for me in that bathroom still makes me shiver to remember, and makes me so glad you and Ron got there when you did."

Harry was stunned into silence by that admission and drew Hermione tighter to his side, nuzzling his face into her hair briefly before responding.

"You can't think things like that Hermione, there are always people there for you."

Hermione gave a very small sniff, but smiled at him again, rubbing her head slightly against his cheek, before continuing again, in a slightly shakier tone.

"I know that now, probably knew it then. But I didn't really realise it until you, you in particular, Harry, turned up in that bathroom. I was scared, more than I'd ever been in my life at that point, and all I could think about was how I wished things had been different. Then you burst in with Ron, and when I saw your face..."

She paused again, clearly thinking her words over carefully in her head.

"I can't really explain what it felt like exactly. I just felt like I knew I would be safe then. Whatever happened, you'd stop it, and we'd all be safe."

Harry smiled at her, giving her a reassuring squeeze with his arm around her shoulder.

"Of course, and that'll always be true."

She smiled at him again, broadly this time and kissed his cheek before settling back into his side, looking over the lake again in thoughtful silence. He began to think she was done until she spoke again a minute later, softly but with some fire to her words now.

"But since we're talking of my past..."

She turned to look at him again, seizing his eyes with her own and he almost gulped. She'd entered into Hermione mode now, and whatever she was thinking, he knew he would have to agree to it.

"I was thinking about all this a few weeks ago, and I realised that just as you know nothing much about me, I don't know much about you either."

Harry couldn't help it, he shifted nervously and made to move away from her. _I do -not- want to go down this avenue of discussion._ She quickly gripped his arm, pulling him back, but as he turned to face her again he was momentarily silenced by her expression. There was no demand there, no forcefulness and he knew, though she really, _really_ wanted him to talk to her, she would never force him to. Somehow, that thought made resistance disappear in him and he allowed her to settle back into him, waiting for her questions.

"I've been able to guess some things. Harry, I don't know why exactly you were left with your relatives, but the way you talk about them..." She paused, brow furrowed in thought, and he had time only to think that it was stupid, really, for him to ever have believed he could have hidden his life with the Dursleys from her or Ron forever. And really, perhaps they'd earned the right for him to trust them with the truth. Still, he wanted her to ask before he'd tell.

"You don't like them." It wasn't a question. "In fact, if I didn't know better, I'd say you behave like you _hate_ them, really hate them. Not just like a child hating an overbearing parent but a true hatred. Harry, you may not realise it, but the only person you ever talk about with more venom and anger in your voice than Voldemort is your uncle. You must realise how strange that seems?"

Harry sighed and realised the game was, effectively, up already. _I just wish this discussion didn't come today, of all days. We're meant to be happy here._

He looked her in the eyes again and seeing she was waiting for him to respond, began to speak.

"I suppose it does seem strange and unfortunately, you're right. I _do_ hate them. I hate my fat, violent uncle, my nosy, stupid aunt. I don't _hate_ Dudley now, though I did for a long time, but that's only because I now realise that he never had a chance with them. He was always going to turn out wrong with those two as parents."

Harry had near enough snarled as he spoke of his aunt and uncle and Hermione, eyes widening slightly, looked nervously at him but she didn't back away, and she still made to speak.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He looked at her, and she clearly realised the question was redundant.

"Sorry, of course you don't, I just meant...Harry, when you started here, and after every summer too for that matter, you were and are thin as a rail. You're clearly underfed, sleep deprived and the clothing you first came here in was clearly not intended for you, it didn't fit you nor was it hygienic."

Harry stared at her, mouth slightly open and surprisingly, she smiled a little at him.

"I'm a girl Harry, and though I don't like to stereotype my own gender, we _do_ notice these things in people. But to be honest even Ron notices it sometimes and, well, you know how observant he is about people."

Harry smiled slightly at the effort at humour, before responding.

"You're right Hermione, those things are all true." He paused, thinking his words over carefully, not wanting to sound weak or helpless. But then, he'd always grown up precisely that way, as he well knew if he was honest with himself. Besides, didn't Hermione deserve the honest truth, especially if she was to become, as now seemed inevitable, his girlfriend? Perhaps more one day?

"I guess I never told you because I didn't want you to think less of me." He raised a hand as she made to speak, cutting her off. "I know I shouldn't but, well, even you don't understand."

She frowned at him, a little upset at his comment, but he quickly clarified.

"It's not about being smart or stupid, it's just something you _can't_ understand. Let's take what you told me as an example. In your case, your life was hell at school, yeah? But at home, your parents still loved you, I'm assuming?"

Hermione nodded, realising he was right, before it then struck her. _If she felt that bad even when she had someone to go to for help..._

"I never had that, Hermione. My parents were dead and as far as I knew, it was just me and the Dursleys. Every day I had to do my chores and slept in a filthy cupboard with a broken and mouldy mattress and a horde of spiders. Every day I woke to hear 'Up, boy!', and until I was five, I thought my name was 'freak'."

Hermione's eyes really did go wide at that, and he could see them beginning to glisten. Reaching to her he took her face in his hands, to lock his gaze with her completely as he spoke.

"Don't get upset Hermione, it's the past now. But this is why I didn't want to tell anyone. For a long time, _I believed them._ I thought that what they said was true, and that everyone else thought it too. I couldn't ask teachers for help when I got to school, because I believed they were in on it too. I couldn't go to anyone, because anyone could be a friend of Vernon and Vernon..."

Harry paused and his eyes, still fixed on Hermione's, flashed with an anger that scared her, but not as much as the other emotion that showed in them: _fear._ He stroked her cheeks gently with his thumb to reassure her, gathering himself together before continuing.

"Vernon believes in corporal punishment, to the extreme. I won't give you the details, you really, truly don't want to know them, but it was enough to silence me."

Hermione didn't speak, only stared at him, and he released her face after a few moments, looking down at his hands now folded in his lap, lost in painful memories. Humiliation, pain, anger and, worst of all, total, helpless resignation. _It would never end_ , that was what he truly believed for ten years. He had believed it all.

His mind wandered over the memories now. The pain of the beatings, the anger at his teachers who he had thought were making fun of him when they asked how he was each day afterwards, because after all, 'you look a little hurt'. He felt the humiliation of starting each year with second hand, poorly dyed clothes, with broken glasses; the jeers of 'criminal' from his peers at school, egged on by Dudley, and the fact that his only friend for ten years had been the very spiders whose home he shared in that wretched cupboard. Worst of all, he remembered clearly how he felt, that first day he had asked himself, as he lay in his cupboard aching with the pain his uncle had inflicted: What if mum and dad hated me too?

He blinked rapidly, trying to control his thoughts and emotions, but knew he was losing the battle and felt ashamed of losing control in front of Hermione so easily. He barely noticed, as curled his face into his balled up fists, that Hermione gently drew him forward into her arms, her chin resting on his head.

"It's OK Harry, let it happen."

He cried. For the first time since Sirius, and for the first time ever since he was little because of the Dursleys, he let it all out. His body shuddered with emotion, with painful, sobbing gasps of unimaginable pain, unable to do anything but lose himself in ten years of suffering. Ten years he'd never really come to terms with and the unbearable sensation of someone, who really did care for him, here at last to soothe him, and the realisation of what he had missed for all those years made the pain into an agony that threatened to tear his heart apart.

Hermione didn't speak. She seemed, as so often was the case, to simply know without asking what he needed and so she simply held him close humming very gently, the vibrations passing through him, generating a calming rhythm that, very, very gradually, filled him with a small sense of relief and warmth.

She waited for him to finish. He didn't know how long it took until finally, he raised his head up to look at her again and was shocked beyond belief that all he saw there was simple concern and, there was no other word that seemed to fit it, love.

"I'm sorry Harry, I shouldn't have asked you about this, not here, and not now."

Harry shook his head, still unable to speak, and couldn't get his words out to tell her it didn't matter. She seemed to know what he wanted to say anyway.

"It does matter Harry, really it does. I knew you'd had it bad but... I never do know, sometimes, when to keep quiet."

Harry, after a few minutes more, gradually calmed his breathing and was able to reclaim his voice.

"Thank you."

Hermione looked stunned. Whatever she'd expected him to say, it clearly wasn't that. Before she could ask, he pressed on.

"I think this probably did need to be asked. I don't know why I never told anyone really. Maybe if I had, maybe Dumbledore or... maybe someone could have done something once I came here. I just couldn't. I've never been able to shake that feeling, however wrong I now know it is, that I deserved it all."

Hermione didn't speak for a few moments, thinking his words over carefully, before wiping his cheeks clear of tears with her thumbs and smiling gently at him.

"I can't claim to understand Harry, but thank you for trusting me enough to tell me all this." She paused and looked thoughtful for a few moments more, before continuing in a warm tone. "It will always be your choice, Harry, how to deal with this. I won't tell anyone any of this, as I hope you can trust me not to without me saying but I want you to be certain, absolutely certain, of one thing."

Harry looked back into her eyes, curious, and after a moment she leaned forward. Before he could react or even think about it, she captured his lips, very briefly and lightly, with her own. As he felt a warmth spreading through him at the touch, he felt all his sadness and pain fade away like fog in the morning sun and though he didn't return it with any force, didn't really know _how_ to return it, he let himself be overcome by the new and incredible feeling of closeness and trust it awoke in him. He felt, finally, like he really wasn't alone anymore.

She broke away and smiled at him, face red but eyes still firmly fixed on his own.

"People do care for you, _I_ care for you. Don't ever again believe what the Dursleys once forced you to think. So many people owe you so much and whatever happens, come what may, don't you ever believe for a moment what they once taught you."

It was a testament to their friendship, to the strength of the trust between them, their comfort with each other and his unshakeable belief in her that it was with total honesty and sincerity that he replied to her.

"I won't believe it, now or ever again."

So for all that had happened it was with joy and warmth, as they snuggled back into each other again in companionable silence, to watch the lake and the forest for the rest of the afternoon, that Harry repeated that truth to himself, and the truth of the girl beside him. He was not now, and would never again be, alone. And neither, he added to himself, would she.


	10. Chapter 10: A lord returns

The manor was quiet tonight. Indeed, it had been quiet almost every night for the past month, Severus reflected as he made his usual rounds, ensuring the manor's security. The only sound, beside his echoing footfalls, was created by the bitter winter winds, howling as they wrapped around the building, blanketing it in icy frost, and periodically creating drafts from the many fireplaces. The flames flickered and sputtered in the gust, and the many draperies occasionally began to flutter in the darkened hallways. Severus was often accused of cowardice, but he was no coward. That wasn't even his own conceit speaking, he simply couldn't be accused of it, given his task, and how long he'd been carrying it out. Even so, the silent manor was _unnerving._

 _Focus! You're a double agent, the most dangerous job in the world, especially under these particular masters. What's a breezy old manor?_

One of those two masters had been absent for some time and ordinarily, Severus Snape would have been overjoyed to be spared the...difficulties that inevitably arose when dealing with the dark lord, particularly given his heightened paranoia and frustration in recent months. However...

 _It's not like him to be gone so long, with no word back. He hasn't done so since, well, since his last downfall._

Severus wouldn't allow himself to become too hopeful however. For one thing, Potter had been nowhere near the dark lord since the summer, and there was every reason to think, if what Dumbledore claimed was true, that the dark lord could be defeated by no other. Much though Severus pained to admit that particular truth, he was nothing if not the undisputed master in facing up to painful truths, even if it took him years to do it.

Still this was most unusual indeed, and all that kept Severus in the company of the death eaters, beyond Dumbledore's instruction to remain, was the sense they all of them had that the dark lord would be back. Glancing down at his forearm, he could see the reason why: the dark mark.

 _It hasn't faded, hasn't lost it's magic as it did when he was last defeated._

That fact alone was proof enough to Severus. Whatever magic the dark lord had used when he crafted his mark it was indisputable that, so long as the mark existed, the dark lord lived, and indeed, if it still pulsed with magic as it presently did, it was logical to assume the dark lord was very much corporeal and active too.

Continuing to brood on these thoughts, Severus finished his circuit of the manor and made his way back to the main hall.

 _Throne room, more like. All we need is the noble king back in his high chair at the high table._

However, as he entered the hall he found it, unusually, not empty at all. Assembled within were a group of, by his estimation, about seven death eaters. They were masked and hooded, never a good sign as that usually indicated they were planning something imminent. Knowing he needed to find out what, exactly, they were up to and relying on his privileged status within the dark lord's inner circle, he moved up to the group openly and without haste in the hope a display of confidence would not raise their suspicions. Sadly for Severus...

" _Snape_ , how _lovely_ to see you this wretched evening."

 _Lestrange._

"Bellatrix. I wasn't aware the dark lord had summoned his circle." Snape replied crisply and without emotion, knowing how to handle Lestrange by now, and surveyed the other figures assembled. Lestrange was the hooded figure stood in the centre, clearly directing whatever plans they were scheming up and unmistakeable, as her black hair cascaded down her robes.

 _Really, why does she even bother with the robes anyway. A disguise is meaningless if everyone knows you're a fugitive to begin with._

He recognised no others present however and turned his eyes back to Lestrange, raising an eyebrow in unspoken question, as she still hadn't answered his implied rebuke.

"The _inner circle_ requires no summoning tonight we are doing the dark lord's will and, being well attuned to our lord's wishes as _faithful_ servants, are preparing to carry it out in his absence."

Lestrange really did have a vanity problem, reflected Severus. If he was honest though, he did too in a certain sense, but choosing not to comment on the ever-inflated-ego of Bellatrix Lestrange, instead tried a different tack.

"Indeed? I'm sure our lord will be pleased by your devotion, as ever. Is it wise to leave the manor defenceless, however? You seem to have summoned everyone for this task."

Lestrange sniffed, clearly growing irritated that Severus hadn't just left yet but, too aware of the dark lord's trust of Severus, seemed to force herself to remain civil.

"Not _everyone._ You'll be here and the manor will be well tended to, I'm sure, Snape. You are capable, after all, and can handle any attack."

Severus ignored the petty insult entirely as he'd gotten part of what he wanted already. She had, indirectly, admitted that the inner circle _were_ up to something and would indeed be leaving the manor empty to carry out their task. Of course, any thought of calling the order in was out of the question. He was after all, the only death eater besides Lestrange's group who knew now the manor would be empty and if the order turned up conveniently, Lestrange and the others would know they had a rat. _And who_. He'd rather not give her the chance to act on her hatred of him.

The other problem with taking the manor was, of course, the presence of the Dementors. Very _restless_ Dementors, it seemed. The dark lord's absence had, to his surprise, not resulted in the Dementors abandoning their posts, but it had created noticeable...agitation in their ranks. They approached everyone who entered the manor very closely indeed and with undisguised relish, as he himself had found out to his displeasure, earlier that night.

Still, he had one more piece to the puzzle that needed solving. _What are they going out to do?_

"I can, indeed, handle the manor in your absence Bellatrix and appreciate your faith in me. However, I would need some idea of when to expect you back. I am not the dark lord and do require times of rest; I cannot hold the fort indefinitely alone."

"We won't be gone long, don't _worry_ Snape. We're just going to remind the muggles why they need to sleep with their lights on at night." Lestrange snorted with a cruel smirk but for a change, made no comment on Severus' character.

 _We're making progress._

So, a muggle attack was the order of the day then. Unfortunately, Severus would be unable to do anything to prevent that, as the risk of exposing his secret role would be too great. He regretted that, truly he did, but he had been in this role too long to not know that he needed to remain where he was. They could save one muggle family today, but hundreds more might die in the days and weeks to come if he wasn't there when the moment finally came to strike the dark lord himself.

Still, it made him feel sick to watch Lestrange's enthusiasm for her 'work', and, having garnered all the information of use that he could gave a curt nod and a sniffy assurance the manor would still be here when they returned. Lestrange simply ignored him and turned back to the assembled death eaters to prepare their attack.

As Severus left the hall however, he did reflect on two things. The first was that he was sure, whether this attack tonight was or was not simply a 'diversion', a way for the death eaters to _amuse_ themselves, something bigger was afoot. They were up to _something_ , and it wasn't going to be a simple attack. Bellatrix and the others had met too often, for too long, for it to be a simple raid. He was sure it was Bellatrix's idea though, as the dark lord certainly didn't leave any standing orders when he departed. Didn't even leave a goodbye note, for that matter.

 _As such, with Bellatrix in charge, it won't be nearly as well planned or coordinated as it should be. If I can find out what they're up to, the chances of being able to stop them are that much higher with Lestrange as the 'chief of staff'._

The second reflection, and a more worrying one for his personal safety, was focused on the Dementors. Not their agitation, though that too was a concern in itself, but the fact of their presence. He knew the dark lord had only planned to house them around Malfoy Manor temporarily, but his abrupt departure had extended that schedule and, Severus knew, the presence of those dark demons would be noticed by the ministry sooner or later.

 _Perhaps there, the opportunity to take out this manor presents itself._

Yes, as he thought on it, that could well be the opening he needed for Dumbledore to accept the plan to recapture at least some of the dark lord's inner circle. An attack on the manor now would be suspicious. After all, nobody in the ministry had any reason to be suspicious now Lucius had gone on the run, he'd never hide here, it'd be _too obvious_.

Severus snorted as he reflected on the short sighted thinking in the Auror department.

 _Even so, if Dumbledore framed it right...an inspection, reports of unusual 'mists' around the manor, fears of infestation of some kind. The ministry can argue it thinks the Dementors are here, which of course, they are, and launch a pre-emptive 'attack' which, with Order participation in secret, might be able to secure some of the dark lord's henchmen._

As Severus stood now in the upstairs corridor looking out into the night, he smiled to himself slightly. After all, whatever Potter or Lestrange or anyone else said about him, Severus Snape could never be called any man's fool and as he reasoned it, this could be a plan able to prove that. To Dumbledore and to the others in the Order who sneered at him. It wouldn't be easy, but it was an option to consider.

 **-** **Moments that define us -**

As night fell on Britain, most of the wizarding world had retreated into slumber and this night, like many others, seemed no different than the last. Around Malfoy Manor, the dark robed figures continued their usual circles of the woods, sniffing out small animals for nourishment. It was a little known fact that the souls of animals would feed a Dementor too; after all, if they simply attacked people all the time a more concerted effort to exterminate them would long have been carried out. Still, it was unfulfilling to them and they had been close to mutiny at times.

Then, the dark master returned again.

The rustling of robes over grass, almost imperceptible, was the first hint that anything was amiss in the woodlands. This was unusual as Dementors float and do not make such noise. It would alert their prey and they picked up on it immediately. Then, they felt him.

 _The dark master is back._

As he approached the manor the dark lord stopped, tilting his head slightly, seeming to consider something, before turning and moving into the forest to where the Dementors, as he knew, most usually congregated: the centuries old oak tree at the centre. It served as the magical focus of the region and was the reason the Malfoy family built this manor here to begin with. Magic is not, he had learned in his long years, a quantifiable substance, a 'thing' you can gather, but even so, some areas do seem to attract it, to congeal it into one dense location, and this wood was one such place.

The dark lord passed swiftly through the trees, virtually silent, and unmoved by the presence of the Dementors, who recoiled slightly as he passed.

 _A tainted soul, poisonous to eat, yet irresistible to follow_.

He was at this point in many ways the human shadow of a Dementor, and it was partly this sense of connection, of _kinship_ of a kind, that drew them to him. His soul, like theirs, was fractured and broken though, unlike theirs, his required no sustenance to be maintained. He fascinated them in a primitive way, as they fascinated him.

As he reached his destination the dark lord stopped and waited, letting his magical aura out around him in waves.

 _What is the dark master doing?_

A group of Dementors gathered, watching their enigmatic leader, wondering at the flashes of magical energy sweeping out from him. It was not his summons, so what was he doing? The dark lord gathered more power around him and pulled out from a bag a snake, _his_ snake, and a stick.

 _A wizard's stick._

As they watched he took the snake and, to their surprise, he began to draw the life out of it. He was trying to _absorb the soul_ of the creature into himself. The Dementors grew even more agitated, recognising this process immediately. But the dark master was not meant to have that ability, it was why he prized them so, after all. As they watched, the soul of the snake moved out of the new dead serpent and into the dark master, connecting with his own.

 _No, not just the soul of the Snake. Another, faded and damaged like his own, but there and distinct._

His magic now accelerated in intensity and they could feel him drawing power from the magic centred on the tree, using it to forcefully _absorb_ the soul of the snake and the tainted other together into himself. If the Dementors were capable of surprise, they would have shown it.

 _Does he now hunger, as we do?_

But no, he hadn't _consumed_ the souls, he'd _absorbed_ then, attached them to his own somehow. Then, as his energy began to crescendo, they felt rather than saw the spirit of their master cry out. It was a cry of power, of joy and success and, most curiously of all, _reunion_.

 _What has he done?_

As the Dementors moved away, disturbed and agitated by the excess of magic, they watched the dark lord turn and before them was a sight that did something to them no other sight could barring a patronus. It made the Dementors pause, then move further away again.

 _The master smiles, and has regained his face_.

Lord Voldemort raised his arms out to the sky and shouted in success, sending a jet of pure red light coursing through the sky in celebration.

"It worked!"

 **-** **Moments that define us -**

From the windows of Malfor Manor Severus Snape, still patrolling, paused and gazed out at the forest in curiosity.

 _What is that sensation? Is that...magic?_

He was disturbed. He had never felt anything so powerful as this, not even when the dark lord became enraged. If the power that rolled off the dark lord at that time was a waterfall, this was a tsunami to crown all tsunami's. Wave after wave of magic poured through the manor, to the point that the walls seemed almost to distort with it and Severus, for the first time in a long time, was truly afraid.

 _Is it the Dementors? The Order? Has the dark lord returned?_

He rushed out into the grounds, wand in hand, in time to see a bright streak of red light shoot into the sky and heard the distant sound of someone in joy. Enormous joy. But he knew that feeling now, the signature of that magic. It was the dark lord, no doubt and he was happy, very happy.

Severus was worried by that sound, extremely worried and, fearing to move out of the manor itself, waited at the entrance, wand still ready for whatever had just happened out there to come to him. After a few minutes, it did. Moving up the pathway towards him was the dark lord, no doubt about it, and he was _happy_. It was obvious something enormous had happened and this worried Severus more. You could see the happiness almost radiating from the dark lord's smile.

 _Wait, his smile! What on earth has he done?!_

Severus waited, truly scared now by the dark lord's strange behaviour and appearance, and it was with great effort indeed he maintained his composure as the dark lord approached and greeted him with a simple "My lord, welcome back. I trust your journey was successful?"

The dark lord, still smiling, and the sight _disturbed_ Severus to see, turned to him and held his arms out, almost as if to embrace him though thankfully he did no such thing.

"Very successful Severus, very much indeed. There's a story to be told. Ah, but not without all of us assembled first. Your arm, Severus."

Severus held his left arm out, making no comment, and bracing himself as the pain of the dark lord's touch to his mark coursed through him before he released him. Severus pulled the robes back down over his now jet black and moving mark.

"I am pleased to hear that my lord, how may I serve?" He spoke calmly and smoothly, in the tones that always seemed to please the dark lord and sincerely hoping nothing had happened at Hogwarts.

 _I won't fail you, Lily._

The dark lord smiled wider and as he did, Severus observed his face more closely. It was...different. The eyes were still bright red, and his nose smooth and deformed. Yet, the signs of _age_ had worn away somewhat and it seemed as though the beginnings of hair had appeared on his skull. Severus truly had no idea what had happened that night and was desperate to know, though of course, he kept that to himself.

"You may serve, as you always do, my friend, by accompanying me to the hall. We all have reason to celebrate, yes, great reason to celebrate indeed."

As Severus followed his lord into the manor his thoughts continued to whirl in his mind, but repeatedly just one came back, again and again.

 _Please don't let me have failed Lily. Never that._

Following his lord inside the night fell, for a time, quiet again. He didn't notice the Dementors had followed the dark lord up the hill, or the excited and eager way they now rapidly circled the manor. He only knew that the dark lord was back, and if anything he'd seen was an indication, dark times were sure to follow.


	11. Chapter 11: Consequences

_Pain. Pain was everything and everywhere. Overwhelming, crushing, choking pain. The sensation of drowning and burning and cutting penetrating every part of his consciousness. Harry had never felt anything like it, and it was so much he quickly lost the power to cry out, trapped in his own head by the endless torment that wracked his entire body, his very soul. It was worse than the Cruciatus, it was worse than anything he had ever experienced, and it felt as though it would last forever._

 _As he fell to his knees and vacated his stomach of the dinner he'd shared with Hermione, he no longer thought of anything. He couldn't do anything at all but be aware of the incredible, burning pain. Yet, as it coursed through him, he sensed something else there too. It was faint, like the distant echo of a sound down a long darkened tunnel, but it was there._

 _I'm not alone._

 _There was someone, some -thing- else in his mind with him. He was sure of it, surer than anything he'd ever known. The pain wasn't his, and yet he felt it, but that something else inside him, that was the source. It was happy, it was excited, it was eager to break him apart, to leap from his body and soul and return to wherever it came from. It was tearing his mind to shreds, and he could do nothing, had no idea what was even happening, or what it was._

 _Then, he felt something else, very distant and very faint. It reminded him of a hand, a warm and gentle hand, and as he recognised the sensation, he recognised just what it felt like. It was Hermione, he knew it. Even through his pain and confusion and terror, he knew that feeling, and the thought of his certain and imminent death filled him with a different, but equally horrifying pain of its' own. But as he felt that, something shifted. The other presence seemed to fade slightly, and he almost felt it recoil. His pain receded, ever so slightly, and now at last, he had something besides his pain to focus on._

 _Whatever it is, it's afraid of me, or what I'm feeling._

 _He focused all his thought and energy on Hermione, on that one, single, bright thought, the only thing he could truly comprehend at that moment. Focused on it harder than any Patronus he'd cast. He barely knew who he was and yet, he knew who and what she was, and he knew this -other- hated that. So he fixated on those thoughts, and allowed them to surround him like a shield._

 _The other screamed, faint and incoherent, but he felt it, and it spurred him on. He kept thinking, kept remembering, and as the pain receded, more memories of her surfaced, and he collected and centred on them all. As he did so, the pain kept fading and fading. At last, it was reduced to a dull ache, and the presence he felt vanished._

 _No, not vanished, but not able to hurt either._

 _He was utterly exhausted, he ached all over and was unable even to open his eyes, to tell Hermione he was OK, before he collapsed into dark, black peace._

 ** _-_** **Moments that define us -**

Hermione's Christmas day had not begun the way she had planned it would. Not even close. In fact, it had been ruined not long after she and Harry had separated for the night in the common room the evening before. It had been a long and, despite what had happened, happy experience for her. She had hoped Harry would be OK as she left for her own dorm, confident that, despite his earlier distress, they had made some real progress together. It had been a tender moment in fact, as they separated, and she had laid down to sleep feeling secure in their future together, as she was sure it now would have to be.

It was around the time she had been thinking of that that she heard the first yell, and with the tower being empty she had no doubt who or where it had come from. Very nearly sprinting through the tower, she had rushed into the boy's dorm to find Harry collapsed on the floor, half undressed, but paid it no mind whatsoever as she rushed to him, turning him onto his side as he began to be violently sick and, in a clear display of the calm under fire that she knew Harry had always valued, she quickly shot a patronus off to Madam Pomfrey, hoping against hope that all she needed to do was will it to tell the nurse what she needed, as she had never used it for message relay before.

It had evidently worked as the school nurse arrived shortly afterwards, looking both harassed and very concerned, finding Hermione still crouched beside Harry, keeping him on his side and as comfortable as she could, putting what little first aid knowledge she had to use as she tried to work out what could have happened. It was as she had frantically considered this that she noticed his scar had reddened significantly, and had even showed signs of beginning to bleed.

 _Well, that's the problem I assume, but the cause?_

She was sure Harry hadn't been having problems with it until now, in fact, he had been unusually cheerful about that subject for months, confident he no longer felt any pain at all from the scar. Clearly, it had returned with a vengeance, and as Pomfrey bustled over, shooing her gently away and beginning to inspect Harry closely, she considered as best she could in her panic-stricken state what could have happened. It seemed obvious Voldemort was involved somehow, that was the only thing that ever caused Harry pain like this before, but those times seemed trivial compared to this. In fact, the last time he'd reacted this violently, someone had died.

Hermione really did panic at that thought, as the terrifying realisation crashed over her in a surge that whatever had happened must be very, very bad if Harry had collapsed into a fit because of it. She was beginning to lose control of herself, and now that Pomfrey had taken charge, and had levitated him to carry him to the hospital wing, she was almost beside herself with panic. It seemed hours before they had gotten to the hospital wing and, after another close inspection, Pomfrey had gently but firmly asked her, if she was going to stay, and she certainly wasn't going anywhere, that she avoid waking him, just in case it caused any further bad reactions. She had agreed numbly and collapsed into a chair beside Harry, eyes fixed on his face as he breathed, still raggedly, though less so than before, as her mind kept circling over the implications of what was happening.

It was as she sat there, though she didn't know how long it had been, that she heard the doors to the hospital wing open, quickly though without much sound, and as she turned to face it she could see it was the headmaster, striding up the ward quickly, the same worry she felt etched on his own face. While his presence would normally calm her, the clear fear in his face seemed only to amplify her own.

 _Albus Dumbledore rarely looks shocked by anything, this can't be good._

The headmaster swept up to Harry's bed, eyeing him closely, and bent closely over Harry's head, observing his scar and muttering to himself what very much sounded to her ears like incantations. He did this for what must have been several minutes, brows furrowed in concentration, before standing back up, giving a deep sigh and turning to her. He seemed almost surprised, for a moment, to see her, but she suspected he probably hadn't noticed her silent presence as he was so focused on Harry.

"Miss Granger? My apologies, I must not have seen you in my haste," he spoke softly and his usual smile crept into his features, though it was a wearier one than she was used to. She returned it, as best she could.

"That's OK Professor, I didn't want to interrupt. Do you know what's happened? Is it Voldemort?"

The headmaster sighed, the smile slipping again, and he eyed her intently for a few moments, before nodding as much to himself as her, summoning a chair for himself from the bed opposite and sitting himself beside her, idly fidgeting with his hands as he began to speak.

"Your guess is as good as mine I suspect, but I think you're right. Harry mentioned nothing to you today?"

Hermione shook her head as she thought about the day just gone. Though they ended up talking about many things, the only mentions of Voldemort were in passing, and she had no sense he'd been hiding anything from her. If nothing else, she always knew when he was.

"No Professor, I'm sure he didn't say anything, and he seemed perfectly normal today."

The headmaster nodded again, and again it was more to himself than her, as he continued to think.

"He mentioned nothing to me either recently, and I too had no reason to suspect anything was amiss. That leads me to think something happened tonight, and very suddenly. We will, I think, have to brace ourselves for the likely fact that Voldemort is back in the country with us. At the very least, terrible though Harry's condition is, it at least warns us of that much."

Hermione's eyes narrowed slightly, not much appreciating the very _calculating_ tone of the headmaster's last words. Though, as she considered them, she realised with a sigh he wasn't wrong. He was just being practical, and though it hurt her to talk of Harry's suffering in that way, she knew that this did at least give them a warning.

 _Providing Harry's still OK to heed it, that is. Oh Harry..._

"Professor?"

The headmaster turned to look at her, evidently still chewing over his own thoughts, but meeting her eyes and inviting her to speak wordlessly.

"Do you know what's wrong with him? Has anything happened that the Order knows of? Is anyone hurt?"

The headmaster shook his head, answering all three questions in one go, or so it seemed to her. She didn't expect him to say anything further so was surprised when, after a few moments more, the headmaster spoke again.

"Miss Granger, the events that have just occurred have made clear to me a few things I need to tell Harry, as soon as he regains consciousness. It could be essential to both working out what has happened, and his own survival. Until I tell him, I cannot unfortunately tell you more than you already know. It would be unfair to Harry to share something about himself with you before I have told him."

Hermione nodded, intensely curious, but knowing the headmaster was right. She had learned to respect Harry's right to choose what to share and with whom, and the day's events had reinforced the reality tremendously. Even so, she couldn't help but ask the one question that burned in her the most.

"Is he going to be OK? Will he wake up?"

The headmaster blinked, and then gave a wider smile than he had until that point, as though surprised she would ask.

"Of course. I apologise, I'm so lost in my own thoughts, I forgot to pass on Poppy's message. Harry will be fine, he's suffering physical exhaustion and is clearly in need of rest, but he should be up in the morning, if not necessarily _about,_ for a few hours at least."

Hermione smiled, relief washing over her, and she decided that she would now wait until Harry was awake before asking anything more about what had happened. She would just remain here and keep him company. _Keep him safe._ That was her responsibility now, and she would carry it out as faithfully as he always did for her.

The headmaster, after a few more minutes silence between them, stood from his chair, and gave her a smile again.

"Well, I can see Harry is well tended to, so I will leave the two of you to rest and be back in the morning to speak with you both." He turned to leave the wing but, as he reached the door, turned back with another smile, this one more conspiratorial, and said, "But if I may ask one thing? Don't wear him out too much with affection before I am able to do that."

With that the headmaster left, leaving a somewhat flustered Hermione gaping at the doorway.

 _How unbelievably rude! As if I'd wear Harry out!_

She smiled after a moment though, as she added a small addendum to that thought.

 _Well, maybe I'll make the hugs less bone crushing. He -does- need to be able to speak to tell us anything, after all._

Content with that thought, and with a visibly more relaxed Harry sleeping much more soundly before her, she shuffled herself closer to his bed and laid her head onto the covers beside his chest, her hands clasping his arm tightly to her, the contact of his warmth sending wonderful sensations of reassurance through her. Gradually she drifted off, exhausted herself at last by all that had happened.

 **-** **Moments that define us -**

Albus Dumbledore was frightened. He wasn't often frightened, and yet it was the truth and, with typical candour and brutal honesty, he faced that fact.

He didn't know what precisely had happened to Harry, and he hadn't lied at all to Harry's young friend, if that was all she still was. He had suspicions, ones she mostly shared, being the bright witch she was, but little more than that. He needed information, he needed to know what Tom was up to, and he knew he had only one way to find out for sure.

That option was, however, rapidly turning out to not exist at present. Severus wasn't in the school, which meant he was at the Malfor Manor again, probably his night for patrol. It also meant he was, very likely, with Tom at this very moment, and that Albus would have to wait to find out what, exactly, the elusive dark wizard had been up to.

 _It has to be something to do with the horcruxes_.

Albus felt that was a reasonable conclusion to draw. To be sure, previously Harry's scar pains were simple reflections of Tom's feelings and plans as they slipped through their connection. Through, as Albus now felt sure he could say, the Horcrux in Harry himself. However, his own check on Harry's scar this evening had confirmed this was no ordinary Harry Potter fainting fit, brought on by a bout of rage or elation of Tom's. The scar had seemed to pulse magical energy tonight, far more than it ever had. The only thing that was comparable in how the magic felt, was the now destroyed ring he had kept from the summer.

 _So Harry -is- a horcrux, just as I suspected. That makes things much more difficult, especially for him..._

He sighed sadly, truly regretting the full implications of that fact, but knowing there was no way to escape that awful truth. And the truth for Miss Granger, too. It was a truly unbearable thought, and Albus resolved to find a way, whatever it took, to remove that cursed scar from Harry without harming him. Even as his final act he would do it, there must be a way.

Still, moving on from that inner vow, Albus considered his options. He had promised Miss Granger he would give Harry honesty tomorrow, and he had every intention of doing it. He'd never wanted to do it, and especially not on Christmas, and even more so now that Harry had seemed to find true companionship. Yet, he had promised it and, he knew privately, they both deserved to know. It couldn't be avoided, they must be told.

Which leads to the question again, of what exactly had happened tonight? Albus supposed it was futile to speculate until his potions master returned, yet, lacking anything else to do, he couldn't help but ponder the problem further.

 _What has Tom been doing doing in Europe?_

His best efforts, and those of the order, had turned up little to no information on that score. Tom remain a master of secrecy after all, and without a bumbling death eater or two to leave them a breadcrumb trail to follow, Tom had effectively had free reign to do as he pleased on the continent. Still, Albus had his suspicions.

Clearly, Tom had been shaken by what had happened that summer at the ministry, and Albus knew that Riddle would never have been shaken by their duel. After all, though it pained him to admit it, he was only ever Tom's equal, whatever others had claimed. Tom was cunning, a genius, really, and it was all Albus could do in his now advanced years to keep up with Riddle. Still, he had done so, and neither of them had done harm to the other. Harry, on the other hand, now that was different.

Albus was sure, as ever, that love, or perhaps more generally, emotion, was the key to the puzzle, at least in some respects. It was Harry's thoughts of Sirius, he had gathered from what Harry had told him after they had gotten back to Hogwarts, that had finally served to cast Tom out. Tom's soul, evidently damaged beyond repair, could no longer withstand contact with another that was not only whole, but much purer and more caring. Probably, though he didn't wish to diminish Harry's courage and will to live, many wizards would have thrown Tom out, had they focused as Harry did, on those people they valued.

So, Tom had been cast from Harry's mind, and the pain that had evidently caused him would explain his hesitancy in striking out until the term had begun. It would also give Albus a motive for Tom's vanishing into Europe. Likely, he was searching for information that explained his failure.

But that alone didn't explain what had happened tonight. Had he found some new way to attack Harry through their link? Possibly, but then, the horcrux should have been prominent in Harry's aura in the aftermath of what was seemingly a successful assault on his mind. Yet, it was dormant.

 _No, not even dormant, it had retreated further. The magical signature of Tom was there and in full force, but it was an echo, not a presence. The horcrux was beaten back._

If Tom _had_ attacked Harry, Harry had plainly fought him off, using the same tactic as before.

 _Which would suggest Tom did not find a way around what caused his previous failure, leaving us with two logical options: he either found faulty information, or he didn't assault Harry's mind at all._

The second disturbed him, as it surely meant Tom had done _something_ that brought out a massive emotional response. Enough to trigger a response from his horcruxes, it seemed.

Albus sighed, moving to sit at his desk and sinking back into the armchair, allowing his fatigue to win control over him. It would do no good to keep going in circles tonight. Whatever had happened, he would have to find out tomorrow. He only hoped Miss Granger didn't kill him first, for hiding all the things he had.

 _Although_ , he thought with regret, _she'd be well within her rights, and I would not resist._

As the first rays of dawn crept into the office, Albus Dumbledore fell into uneasy and unhappy slumber, not noticing as Fawkes, returning through the window, flew gently down to land on his desk. Blinking up at the sleeping wizard, he trilled softly, before tucking himself in against his master, sensing his worry and regrets. Trilling softly again, he eased his master's mind, the least he could do for a master who, for all his flaws, was as sincere and genuine a man as any master he had chosen to serve. Truly, he was proud to be a Phoenix for such a gentle, caring lion, and Fawkes would be with him to the end.


	12. Chapter 12: Recovery and resolve

_Ugh, I feel like I was trampled by a herd of Hippogriff._

Harry, blearily, opened his eyes, feeling completely drained, but at the very least, he was alive.

 _Not sure that's such a good thing, if this headache turns out to be permanent._

He moved his head to one side, trying to move it to a cooler part of the pillow, and realised as he did so where he was. His old longtime companion and secret mistress: the hospital wing.

 _I'd say it's good to be back, but somehow, the thought makes me ill._

He shook his head slightly, and regretted it immediately as a wave of dull aches sharply pricked across his skull, like a dozen knives stabbing into his head. This was not his idea of a good start to the day at all, and he raised a hand to try and suppress the pain in his head by pressing his fist against it. As he did so, his hand brushed past something soft, and quite a bit fluffier than his sheets. Looking down, he saw a bushy mane he'd know anywhere, and for the first time since waking he smiled. Well, it was more a grimace, but it was as close as you get after the kind of pain he'd endured.

 _What -was- that?_

He now fully began to regain his sense of time and place, and realised he must be here because what had happened wasn't a dream. Somehow, that made the memory of the pain worse still, and the aches in his body seemed to become clearer and sharper as he recalled what had brought them about. It still didn't answer his unspoken question though: what had happened? He knew it had to be his scar, if the still considerable pain centred on it was anything to go by, and he could think of no other explanation that would make sense.

 _It's odd though, I don't remember any visions of anything. And besides, it's been calm for ages._

That thought worried him; had the link reopened with Voldemort? Was it ever closed to begin with? As he considered that, he realised with mounting horror that, surely, the pain had to be related to Voldemort in some way. But usually, there was some obvious explanation, some kind of vision, or a dream, or a sound. Something, _anything_. He remembered next to nothing though. He did feel however, a sense that there was something he _should_ remember, just beyond the edge of recollection, and the feeling was driving him mad as he tried in vain to haul that something back into his conscious thought.

It was as he wrestled with his thoughts that Hermione, still with her head beside him, had begun to stir, and he was distracted immediately, eyes snapping to the back of her head.

 _Has she been here all night? Wait, how long have I even been out?!_

Worry began to creep through his mind as he tried to establish what day it was, but the hospital wing contained no real reference points. There was no calendar of any kind in sight, much less a clock to go by. Again, he was pulled back to the present as Hermione stirred again, and this time made a few grunting noises, before beginning to move her head, rubbing at her face and eyes. He waited until she turned to look at him before speaking, not wanting to startle her.

"Hello Hermione, we have to stop meeting like this."

He didn't know it, but shock at Harry's being awake quickly changed to joy in Hermione's heart, as that simple, decidedly _Harry_ greeting, blew all her fears for any lasting damage to him away, scattering them to the winds. It was with a widening smile, and a warm if cautious hug, that she greeted him back.

"Hello Harry, you do need to stop putting yourself here to begin with."

Harry chuckled, but regretted it quickly as his chest cried out a protest and pain shot across him again. He winced slightly at this, and Hermione's face took on a clear look of worry again as she watched him clutch himself tightly.

"Are you OK? Do you need Madam Pomfrey?"

Harry shook his head, though not looking too convincing given his still evident discomfort and, deciding the nurse would be furious if she wasn't summoned to check her patient on his waking, she moved away to get her, sending an apologetic look at Harry, knowing how much he hated the fuss Pomfrey always brought. He was still too distracted with his aches however, and she knew she was making the right decision.

She returned a minute later with Madam Pomfrey moving quickly to Harry's bed, examining him closely.

"What on earth is it about you that you always seem to end up back here, Mr Potter? You're keeping me in a job, but I'd prefer it not be done in such a _dramatic_ manner."

Harry, silently acknowledging the rebuke, smiled a little back at her, and gave a simple apology in reply. Pomfrey tutted, and began prodding and poking him with her wand, as well as administering several exceedingly disgusting potions to him, and he was sure to grumble throughout it all, just as she was sure to ignore every mutter without comment.

Her examination done, Madam Pomfrey moved back from him, vanishing the empty bottles and giving him and Hermione stern instructions to remain here until the headmaster arrived shortly. Harry tried pointing out that he was, after all, not exactly going anywhere fast in his condition, but knowing him as she did, Pomfrey clearly didn't trust him. Nor for that matter, and to his consternation, did Hermione who, as Pomfrey left, made a point of sitting on his bed, effectively sealing him under the covers, before moving a soft hand to his face, stroking his cheek lightly in affectionate greeting. He really did smile then.

"I'm sorry, Hermione."

"Don't you even dare try it Harry Potter," Hermione cut off his apology, still looking at him affectionately but a slightly reproving edge entering the hand on the side of his face, which near enough pinned his head facing her, and his eyes looking into her own. "If it weren't the fact this happens to you so often, I'd hear your apologies, but there's no point apologising when more likely than not you'll end up here again before either of us are much older."

She spoke sternly, but Harry knew she was simply hiding her relief under the mask of pragmatism she always used when she was scared or worried. He smiled at her, not replying for a moment and placing his own hand over hers on his cheek.

"I suppose you're right," He paused for a moment, eyes going a little distant as he sunk into thought, before he asked, "Do you know what happened?"

Hermione shook her head, worry showing on her face again, her mask cracking, as she looked down for a moment, doing her best, it seemed, to calm herself.

"We were hoping you'd tell us that, me and Dumbledore I mean," she replied, anticipating Harry's question before his eyebrow had even begun to raise, "You just collapsed suddenly, a few minutes after we said goodnight last night. I heard you...yelling, and I found you on the floor, curled up and shaking. I was _scared_ Harry."

She really did look angry now, but he now she wasn't really angry at him, just upset by the memory and probably angry at her own helplessness. He pressed her hand against his face a little firmer for a moment, and as he did so, a memory returned to him. _That touch_. It was a vague and blurred memory, but he knew that touch had helped him somehow. He just wasn't really sure how. He spoke again, voice full of gratitude that he couldn't properly understand, but new she needed to know he felt.

"Thank you, Hermione. I don't know exactly what happened, but you probably saved me."

She looked blankly shocked at that, not knowing really what to say, but his gratitude almost rolled off him, washing over her and she finally felt calm again. He was safe, he was Harry, and that was all she needed. She leant over and placed a gentle kiss on his lips, moving back and smiling at him, their faces a bare inch apart.

"I don't know that I can take the credit for that, but if I did, I'd do it again, and without any hesitation."

He smiled widely up at her now, returning his lips to hers briefly and gently, and as best he could, he assured her with his gaze that for him, the same was true. That certainty about and for each other they shared was unbreakable, and with that, nothing else could ever compare. It was the security and the safety he'd always wanted, and he found he felt just as much joy to be able to offer it to her as to receive it from her.

They remained close together, Hermione lying beside him, clearly still exhausted from the night's events until, some time later, the doors to the hospital wing opened and Professor Dumbledore swept in, eyes lighting up as he saw the two of them.

It was strange, really. Harry thought that he should feel embarrassed, he _ought_ to feel embarrassed, especially in this intimate moment, with his headmaster sweeping in. Yet, as he looked up and met his headmaster's smile, he found he didn't really care to move away from Hermione, and she certainly wasn't going anywhere. Instead, he chose to greet his headmaster as he always did.

"Good morning, sir, I hope you're well?"

Dumbledore near enough beamed until his face split, clearly delighted Harry sounded so much like he always did, and returned the greeting with his usual flair and enthusiasm.

"Good morning, Harry. I am very well, though I had hoped to find you tucked up in your tower, or, indeed," he added with a small, conspiratorial wink, "curled up on a couch with your companion, though I assure you I would not be so rude as to barge in there. In any event, how are you feeling?"

Harry smiled, a little red faced at his headmaster's typically embarrassing form of humour, before responding with similar enthusiasm.

"I feel great now, a bit sore, but much better."

Dumbledore continued to smile, and drew up a chair to sit beside Harry's bed while also, in his usual thoughtful fashion, summoning one for Hermione too. It would, after all, be pushing it a little to remain curled up with her when the headmaster's inevitable questions came. Still, he noted with happiness that though she slid from him and sat on the proffered chair, she kept her hand firmly clasped to one of his own on the edge of the bed.

The headmaster smiled at Hermione in greeting, which she returned a little shyly, but with Gryffindor courage, met his gaze, before both she and Harry look expectantly at the headmaster. After a few moments of thought, Dumbledore spoke.

"Harry, I apologise for coming to you so soon after waking, and disturbing the two of you, but I do need to ask some questions."

Harry waved away the concern in the headmaster's voice with a smile, giving him a clear look to indicate he knew it needed to be done, and was willing to help if he could. Dumbledore smiled at him again, before pressing on.

"Well, I'm sure Miss Granger has already asked at least some of them, but first and most important: do you know what happened yesterday evening?"

Harry frowned, still struggling to recall the events that had led him here. He remembered beginning to undress, then a sudden, incredible pain, losing his ability to see or hear, and collapsing to his knees. He sighed as much in frustration as pain at the memory, and tightened his grip slightly on Hermione, who returned it silently.

"I'm really not sure, Professor. I think it was my scar, but, well, the pain was _everywhere_." Dumbledore's eyes fixed with his, waiting for him to continue. "I'm _sure_ it was my scar, really. It's the part that hurts the most now, and although my whole body felt like it was tearing itself apart, my head was the worst." He shuddered a little at the memory, his knuckles now turning white as he gripped Hermione's hand, who neither protested or showed any sign of discomfort. Encouraged by her touch, he continued again. "I can't clearly remember anything professor. No voices, no visions, no anything. If it was Voldemort, I don't know what happened. Has he done anything sir, is he back?"

The headmaster sighed, shaking his head and disappointed, though not surprised, that Harry had little new information to give. He had expected that it would take time, given the severity of the mental attack, though it thankfully left no permanent damage it seemed, for his clarity on what happened to re-emerge. Fiddling with the sleeve of his robes slightly, he answered as best he could.

"As far as the Order or I know, nothing has happened, Harry. No attacks have been reported, no Dementor sightings, no hint of Tom's presence. Yet, I agree with you, he had to be involved, no other explanation makes sense."

Dumbledore seemed to consider his thoughts for a few moments and they all fell into silence, fear settling into the pit of Harry's stomach again, an anxious fear born of the uncertainty of not knowing what, if anything, had happened. After a few moments, Dumbledore sighed again, and met Harry's eyes with a stare that scared him. His headmaster rarely looked so grave.

"Harry, my dear boy, I have decided today that there are some things you need to know, and they are not good news, I'm sorry to say. It is also likely to be very...upsetting. If you wish to speak in private...?"

Harry didn't even need to shake his head, or Hermione to ask, he gave both the headmaster and Hermione a look that said it all: whatever was said was for all three of them, or not to be said at all. To his surprise, Dumbledore smiled a little at this, and he realised the headmaster almost certainly expected this. He knew Harry as well as anyone after all, with the possible exception of Hermione of course.

"Very well. I want you to know Harry that I have kept this to myself, not because you didn't deserve the knowledge, or because you weren't ready for it. In this case, and I beg your understanding, I did not speak because I in truth did not _know_ if my suspicions were true. As such, I didn't wish to burden your already heavy shoulders with yet more awful thoughts. As it is...I think we no longer have any choice, as there is no longer any doubt."

The headmaster paused, and Harry, though dread was building in him as surely, he could tell, as it was in Hermione, given the incredibly sad expression on his headmaster's face, nodded his head, accepting the apology his headmaster was attempting to give, and believing him, knowing he was sincere. From Dumbledore's expression, it was clear his unspoken thoughts were reaching him, and he seemed to steel himself before pressing on.

"You will, I'm sure, recall well that Tom has created horcruxes to prolong his existence. Your assistance, Miss Granger, in finding new ways to destroy those has been much appreciated, I might add," Dumbledore spoke with a smile to Hermione, who smiled weakly back, but waiting for him to reach the point.

"I have suspected for a long time Harry, that when he first attacked you all those years ago, his destruction caused more than his physical banishment from your home. As we've discussed previously, multiple horcruxes was an idea until now never attempted, given the incredible damage even one does to a soul. I suspected that after seven of these creations, his soul must now be utterly devastated and that, when he was defeated by you the first time, part of it may have been, for want of a more academic and precise term, _loose_."

Harry said nothing, mind working quickly to digest this information, and as he looked at Hermione, he noticed her face had gone deathly pale. She knew what the headmaster was hinting at but Harry, sluggish as his mind still was so soon after waking, could only stare at Dumbledore, his confusion evident on his face. Dumbledore sighed deeply, breaking eye contact for a moment, before continuing.

"When he was destroyed, I suspected your scar, the night Sirius and later Hagrid retrieved you, might be more than the remnants of a curse. There was a distinct and significant magical aura around it, what I call a signature, of sorts. I knew it well, as no other aura had been so strong and distinct in my long life: it was Tom's."

He paused, sighing deeply again. Hermione's eyes, Harry noticed as he looked at her, were reddening fast, and tears were beginning to run freely. He wished he was able to sit up and wipe them away, but could only squeeze her hand firmly again, willing her to feel his mental hug of reassurance. He was growing impatient to learn what the other two seemed now to know, and asked: "So what does that mean, did he leave a curse on me then? Is that why I can see the visions? Talk to Snakes?"

Dumbledore looked at him sadly, and nodded his head.

"In a manner of speaking, yes, I believe he left a _curse_. Specifically, I believe he made you, entirely by accident, his unintentional and to my knowledge final, horcrux."

Harry's world went dark. He couldn't speak, couldn't even make a sound. Hermione was sobbing openly now, and threw herself onto him, but he couldn't even bring himself to comfort her. He felt like he was falling, falling down a deep pit, and everything was flying away from him. Then the sting of pain hit him again, and as he reached up to clasp his head in pain, as Hermione and Dumbledore both leaned over, alarm evident in their faces, he finally remembered what he was so sure he'd forgotten.

 _That presence. It was -him-_

He felt sick, so much so he had to lean over the side of the bed, dry heaving as Dumbledore quickly summoned a bucket for him to use, but he had nothing to bring up and only retched, the sound dry and the bile in his mouth burning.

He remained leaning over the bed for a minute longer, feeling completely sick to his stomach. Feeling _violated._ It explained everything: the voices, the visions, the Parseltongue, the sorting hat. Everything fell into place like a morbid and lethal jigsaw. _I was never alone, not from the moment he killed my parents._

As he finally regained control of himself he leaned back into the bed, body burning now not only with pain, but pure, unadulterated anger, and his eyes blazed as he looked at Dumbledore. He was finally able to pull Hermione, still crying, tightly to his side to reassure her as best as he could without words. Then he spoke, voice hard and cold.

"It was him, headmaster. I don't know exactly how it happened, but I remember the _feeling_ clear enough now. It was...that _thing_ inside me. It _attacked_ me last night. No..."

He paused, the pain of the memories beginning to release from the dam he'd probably subconsciously blocked them behind rushing over him in a tidal wave. Gathering his thoughts, with Dumbledore, looking both upset and anxious for him to continue, he began to put his thoughts to words.

"It wasn't like anything I'd felt before. I could _feel_ him inside me, sir. I could _feel_ him trying to get out. It was like he was trying to tear me apart from inside my own head. And he was _happy_."

Dumbledore didn't respond, his own shock, horror and disgust evident in his face, but something else lurked there too: anger. It reminded Harry again, as it always did on those rare occasions Dumbledore grew angry, that the kindly old man was still the most powerful wizard alive. He could feel the energy puling around them like the beginnings of a hurricane, but knowing it would never harm him, or more importantly, Hermione, he said nothing as the headmaster continued, evidently, to think. After a while, he spoke again.

"Then it confirms my worst fears, Harry. Your words confirm a number of suspicions I'd had, but it doesn't really fit in with what we know. Harry, horcruxes are capable of independent actions, up to a point, but in your case, it was largely suppressed by your own, stronger, will and, literally, soul. That Tom's horcrux attacked you now is odd, but might be explained as an attempt at freedom, which ordinarily I'd maybe accept. However..."

Dumbledore paused yet again, and Harry could almost hear his mind whirring with activity as he considered the possibilities.

"This disturbs me. A horcrux attempting to _possess_ the host would make sense. But attempting to _destroy_ the host and escape, when a horcrux _cannot_ exist without a host to begin with? It makes no sense."

Harry didn't speak, he had no idea what to say to that, and clearly, Dumbledore was now descending deep into thought. It was clear that answers weren't coming today. However, as he sat in silence, rubbing Hermione's head gently in the way he knew she loved, she finally spoke, her soft voice vibrating from her chest to his own, but the feeling offered no soothing as she spoke her next words.

"Headmaster, if what you say is true, Harry's horcrux has to be destroyed."

Harry's mind really did go blank at that, the simple, horrifying realisation he hadn't come to. _No, hadn't admitted._ It was a death sentence. Nothing more, or less, and spoken so softly, so gently, by the one person who made him want to live the most. He almost couldn't bear it, this was worse than the feelings of physical pain the night before. This painful, almost soul-shattering realisation, left him feeling hollow and empty, as he simply stared at the headmaster, whose face confirmed everything.

Dumbledore didn't say anything, and Hermione didn't even cry. She just turned and looked up at Harry, and as their eyes met, he felt himself almost die at the sight. The pain in her eyes was a thousand times worse than his own. _Because he had caused it._ It wasn't fair. It just _wasn't fair._ After all they'd come through, after how far he'd come with her, after what he had finally begun to _feel_. And it was all for nothing.

He simply pulled Hermione to him, and she buried herself into his chest, shaking with silent sobs, and he felt himself ready to do the same. But he had to be strong, and growing up with the Dursleys, you learned to be strong, _fast._ He simply stared with empty eyes at his headmaster, waiting for him to speak.

"I'm truly sorry, Harry. I cannot tell you how much I wished I didn't have to tell you this, that it wasn't true."

That did it. Those words broke Harry's final barriers down, crashed through the false and paper thin front he'd tried to put up. Not even his headmaster could help him, could help _them_. He would die, he'd lose Hermione, lose everything, and there was nothing he could do. His face crumpled, and he simply buried himself in Hermione, unable even to cry, simply hiding himself in the one person who gave him so much joy, so much reason to live, and completely broken that he had brought her to tears so many times in such a short time.

Albus Dumbledore said nothing, he couldn't say _anything_. He knew this had to be said, that they had to know, and it tore him apart completely. For the first time, even with all his crimes, he truly felt _hatred_ for Tom Marvolo Riddle. A boy with such promise, who had done nothing but bring this kind of misery to so many. Knowing that as a fact was bad enough, but seeing the consequences before him, for a boy he'd come to view as family, it was enough to break him.

Finally, he spoke, standing as he did so, and deciding he couldn't simply _sit_ here and watch this a moment longer. He pushed his magic out, enveloping the both of them, in the way his phoenix had long ago taught him, filling them with all the care, compassion and love he could. _Willing_ them to calm. As he did so, he spoke his vow, and he needed no wand to make it unbreakable.

"I promise you, the both of you, I will find a way to remove that curse from you, Harry. Tom Riddle will never win, not so long as the three of us live to stop him."

Harry and Hermione looked up at the headmaster, feeling his magic, and in that deep connection Dumbledore opened up to two of his most prized students, most prized _friends_ , he would surely say, they felt his own sorrow too, and his own sense of helplessness. This shocked them out of their own misery, to not just see but _feel_ their headmaster, their guide and in many ways, their idol so vulnerable. Without a word, reaching in to the deepest and most basic roots of magic, they used that connection to return the headmaster's comfort, and this seemed to surprise him deeply, but not as much as the words Harry spoke. Though he spoke them alone, he could see in Hermione's eyes she shared every word.

"You won't do it alone, sir. We're in this together, and we'll find a way. After all," and Harry smiled softly, cleansing the last of the headmaster's own fears and replacing it with the confidence he was always famed for, "With us, Slughorn, and the best damn school in the world at our side, what chance does a halfblood with a bad attitude and daddy issues have?"

That simple, completely _Harry_ vow, finally brought back the sound that the hospital wing, and the empty school, so desperately needed to hear again. The simple sound of _laughter_. The sound that reminded Harry, with a sense of shock and dismay, that it was Christmas day.

 _And it was meant to be such a wonderful day too._

But then he realised, as the headmaster left them, with his first ever full and warm hugs to the both of them as he did so, that despite everything, it didn't matter what happened that day. She was with him, _they_ were with him, as was Slughorn, he knew, and all his friends, and the Order. So many people still remained by him, so many people he could protect, and nothing else mattered but that. _That_ thought was the greatest gift.

He turned to Hermione, smiling at her apologetically as she looked at him, clearly confused at his expression.

"I'm sorry I don't have my present with me Hermione, and for ruining it, but happy Christmas!"

She looked at him, blinking slightly as it dawned on her too, then she smiled, and leaned in for a quick kiss.

"You could never ruin it, Harry. We're together, and that's all that matters." She kissed him again, slightly longer this time, and it was with a dizzying warmth going to his head like firewhiskey that he grinned at her as they finished, "Happy Christmas, Harry." As they enveloped each other in another, warm hug, he knew that, for today at least, their problems could wait. Today, like tomorrow, and every day after it, they would never let Tom Riddle beat them.


	13. Chapter 13: Dark Rage

It had been a bitter winter, and not just due to the weather. But, as term began again, and especially once he was reunited with all his friends, that bitterness faded into insignificance. Harry had accepted, though Dumbledore had promised to seek a solution, his possible and likely fate, though he would be lying to say he wasn't afraid of it, or that he wasn't still disgusted every moment he remembered that Voldemort was, quite literally, always with him. The thought never ceased to sicken him, but he refused to let it dominate him, focusing his efforts more fully than ever on the duelling club, on the horcruxes that he, Dumbledore and now Hermione had committed to find, and the task of their destruction.

Harry was encouraged, too, by the tight sense of comradeship forming between him and the three other 'leaders' of the duelling club. Susan and Padma had both turned out to be ready and able leaders, and though it pained him to admit it, even Draco had his moments to shine. But all three of them, and yes, he really could say all _three_ , were committed to their efforts, and it was with surprise, though not an enormous amount, that he greeted them as they approached him in the room of requirement, having requested a private chat.

He busied himself with Dobby, who had, of course, volunteered eagerly to help provide a few things to nibble at while he met the three of them, and had just finished preparing some parchment for himself, as he customarily did whenever they all spoke together, in case he needed to note anything down.

Padma arrived first, punctual as ever, and with her customary air of wanting to get things done as soon as possible, promptly sat in her usual chair across from him, greeting him warmly but curtly, and he returned the greeting with a guarded smile. Susan and, to his surprise as he usually arrived alone, Draco, came in a minute later, chatting idly, and seeming to be absorbed in conversation until they had taken their own seats, before Susan turned to smile at Padma, then Harry, and he greeted all three of them as one.

"So, why did you guys want to talk?" He asked, not surprised it was Padma who spoke first, as she often did whenever they talked 'business'.

"We want to help you guys. You, Hermione, Ron, all of you. We know you're going to be fighting the dark lord, and it's obvious you're preparing yourself for it. You've been so focused on the job recently that you've barely spoken to us much at all."

Harry simply gazed at Padma, surprise clear on his face, having not anticipated _this._

"You uh, you guys are sure about that? You do know-" He was cut off by Susan, who smiled but with a firm and steely expression as she spoke.

"We're perfectly aware of what it means to _help_ , and we still want to do it. All three of us are in, Harry. You said we had to set examples to the rest of our school, but for me personally at least, I want to do much more than that. I want the evil swine who killed my parents _gone_ , and I want to be part of that."

Harry could say nothing to that, simply staring back at Susan, mouth open. He'd rarely seen her so heated as she had become as she finished speaking, and it was with a slight blush that she leaned back into her seat, clearly done. Padma, however, wasn't.

"I may not have the same motives as Susan, Harry, but I promise you, I want the dark lord gone as much as anyone, and frankly, you'll need people with brains by your side. You've got Hermione and Dumbledore, but you can never have too many hands."

Harry barely got a chance to collect his thoughts as Draco chipped in with his own thoughts.

"As for me, Harry, I have no noble reasons, just survival. My family is in deep with the dark lord, and if we're ever going to be free, we need out, by any means necessary."

Harry raised an eyebrow as he thought about this, about everything they'd said, before fixing his gaze on Draco, questions forming quickly.

"But won't you going against him cause more problems for your family? Don't know if you'd noticed, but Voldemort has a penchant for punishing entire families for the _disloyalty_ of one member. What makes you think he'd let your mum or dad be?"

Draco's eyes flashed with anger briefly, as he answered in a snarl.

"Don't presume to lecture me on what the dark lord does to punish people's mistakes. I've seen enough of that already to know _exactly_ what he does to people who fail him." Draco turned away as he finished, and Harry thought he detected a hint of pain in his eyes as he did. Evidently, he wasn't lying, but it would do no good to ask for more.

"Fair enough, just wanted to be sure." He turned back around to face all three of them now, his face, he hoped, reflecting the gravity of what their choice would mean as he asked them a final time, "If you're sure, then no more needs to be said. If anything happens, you'll be among the first to know, you have my word."

Padma and Susan hesitated only for a moment before nodding, Susan smiling widely, and Draco, still brooding beside them, simply gave a terse nod and a grunt.

 _Looks like we're committed, then, Merlin knows I may need to be for bringing Draco into this._

"Alright then, I'll let Dumbledore know, but he'll probably want to confirm it with you himself. He will probably want to check with your relatives too, he is still the headmaster after all, and can't just send anyone who volunteers out to what is effectively a war."

From their expressions, he knew none of them expected that, not even Padma. Still, they looked hesitant only for a moment before each of them in turn gave their assurance that that was fine.

Finally, standing up, Harry reached across to shake hands with all three of them, smiling broadly, and as they quickly left for their respective dorms, he couldn't help but feel elated.

 _If nothing else, score one for house unity in the face of adversity!_

 **-** **Moments that define us -**

As the sunlight crept back down over the crest of the hills overlooking Malfoy Manor, Lord Voldemort stood, looking into those dense, forested mounds, considering his options. His effort to reunite his soul had seemed to work, just as his experiments in Europe had indicated they would. He was certainly physically stronger now, his magic felt more in tune with himself, and his command of his mind was much more his own. Even so...

 _I only recovered one of them, poor Nagini..._

He regretted the loss of his faithful pet, but he regretted the failure to completely reunify his soul much more. He hadn't considered that the magic he had used to draw in the horcrux in his serpent might only function within a limited range. He supposed he ought to have anticipated that though as it would, if nothing else, be simply too convenient to retrieve his remaining soul fragments that easily.

 _And moreover, something simply felt off about it all._

It was not the experience he had anticipated. The joy of reunion he had expected, the painful initial drain on his magic also made sense, and was expected. But something else had seemed to feel _wrong_ that night. Perhaps it was simply the distant fragments responding? If he was frank with himself, and he always thought he was, he had wondered if the horcruxes, which after all, function essentially autonomously, would respond to his 'call' to return. He had initially suspected not, given his soul remain deeply fractured from his own examinations, however, he _did_ feel a sense of a pull, of something distinctly attempting to reach him as he'd conducted the ritual. He couldn't know for sure, but he suspected it must have been his horcruxes' reactions.

 _Still, they did not return, and so I will have to return them myself._

It was to that end he had had Bella bring his cup, the former cup of Helga Hufflepuff, to him. He of course, had told her nothing other than to treat it with reverence, and by no means to _interfere_ with it. She had looked curious at that choice of term, but being his faithful Bella, he had no doubt she'd follow his order to the letter, and she'd certainly done so as here now, he had his next horcrux before him.

He gathered his energies, confident he no longer needed the magical catalyst of the oak tree's natural magic to complete the process, and to his delight, if not his surprise, he succeeded, quicker than last time. That same joy, that same reunion, it was all there again, and he barely produced even a murmur of excess magic as he did so. This was good, very good.

 _Wouldn't want the old man to get too curious, would we?_

He had fretted at that possibility ever since his return. The old man was exceptionally well attuned to the magical energies that surrounded them all, he had known that ever since the headmaster seemed to detect the hint of the Basilisk about him in his days at the school. Not enough of a trace for the old man to _know_ he was guilty, or what the aura attached to his own was, but enough to make him suspicious.

So, he'd been cautious, choosing to bide his time before attempting a new horcrux retrieval, to let the old man sink back into complacency. Now, as he was returned further to strength, as his skin regained long lost colour and his nose took on human definition once more, he was confident he'd chosen wisely.

 _As always._

Now, knowing he could reunite silently, he was determined to retrieve his final horcruxes quickly.

 _The locket, and the diadem and ring._

The diary was, of course, lost to the idiocy of the bumbler Malfoy, and while that filled him with rage beyond compare, he knew he could not let it get the better of him. Lucius was worse than dead, following the azkaban 'liberation', and Bella would no doubt make him pay every day of his remaining years for his failure. That would satisfy him.

Still, as he awaited the arrival of the son of that very bumbler, he also reflected on his ability to be calm and calculating when needed.

 _The son is not the father. I, of all people, know that._

It was a fundamental truth, he had proven it, Crouch had proven it, and now Draco proved it too. There was still something about the boy he couldn't put his finger on, and no mystery ever pleased Lord Voldemort, but the boy's growing confidence, competence and loyalty seemed beyond question regardless. It was fitting he should help undo the disgrace of his father's failure, and assist in returning one of his previous horcruxes to him. It didn't hurt that Draco was, after all, the only one so positioned who _could_ retrieve the diadem to begin with, but even so...

A light rap sounded on the door to the room, and Lord Voldemort called out a crisp "Enter." In came Bella, glowing with admiration as ever, and, the consummate obedient follower as ever, she made no fuss about announcing Draco's arrival, and quickly left the two of them alone.

"Draco, sit."

The boy obeyed briskly, and sat in the proffered armchair before his own, though Lord Voldemort continued to stand behind his own. It was one of his favourite ploys. Keep them in a position where they always have to look up to you. Simple manipulation, but every effort contributed to the whole.

"I have a new task for you, one of utmost importance, but first, I must thank you again for your loyal service so far. Your insights into the boy's activities have made it clear to me that I need to act quicker, before he or his so-called friends can, as it were, head us off at the pass. I need you to retrieve a precious artefact for me: the diadem of Ravenclaw."

Draco's eyes widened ever so slightly, which at the very least confirmed, in Lord Voldemort's mind anyway, that he did not know it still existed. However, Draco simply waited for his master to continue and Lord Voldemort, a mimicry of a smile on his face, continued to speak.

"The properties of this artefact will be invaluable in the struggle to come, and I have long known that it has been safely kept within Hogwarts school. I require you to fetch it for me, a simple task, but an important one, as all the tasks I choose to give of course are."

Draco nodded in acknowledgement, seeming to think for a few moments, before speaking for the first time.

"My lord, I beg your forgiveness for my interruption, but this task highlights to me the importance of a rumour I have come to learn from Potter's inner circle."

Lord Voldemort said nothing, gave no visible reaction, which Draco seemingly took as being as good an invitation to continue as he would get.

"There are claims from some of them, particularly the Weasley boy, that they recently acquired and destroyed an old ring. I had placed little importance on this seeming irrelevance, but..."

Draco stopped dead, eyes truly wide now, real fear setting into his face as Lord Voldemort began to breathe heavily, eyes literally _burning_ with fury, and without a word, he pointed his wand at Draco, and near enough blasted him across the room, hurling him into a wall and leaving a sizeable dent where he had struck. Draco landed in a heap on the floor, not moving, and Lord Voldemort paid him no mind, pacing frantically, mind racing.

 _The ring! How can this be possible! They know, they surely must know there was more than one! The old man must have guessed, I should have anticipated this after the diary, I should have moved quicker!_

He was near enough ready to scream his fury, his magic tearing through the room like a hurricane, and he whirled around to face Draco's still silent body, hurling a Cruciatus at it. With satisfaction, he watched Draco's form jump to life, his yells piercing the air, revitalising Lord Voldemort with the sense of _justice_ it carried.

He didn't know how long he held Draco under the curse before he relented, his fury finally manageable, but still raging, and without a word he swept from the room, stopping only to speak sharply to Bella, who was waiting anxiously at the door clearly desperate to know what had happened.

"Clean that up, and get that boy walking _tonight_. I want him in the school by morning, he knows his task, and the price of failure."

Offering no further explanation he swept past her, leaving a furious Bellatrix Lestrange to enter the room he'd just left, her wand poised at the ready, no doubt sensing her master's unspoken desire. After all, he had only specified Draco be _walking_.

Reaching a balcony window, Lord Voldemort didn't even bother to pause as he jumped from it, his robes whirling, and he entered into broom-free flight with the grace and deadly precision of a predator out to stalk prey in the night sky. He would retrieve his locket, and he would have his diadem, and then, he would prepare _retribution_. The wizarding world would again be reminded why it ought to fear his name.

 **\- Moments that define us -**

It was several hours later when a bruised, battered and broken Draco Malfoy stood again, preparing as quickly as he could to leave this cursed manor, his eyes burning with unshed tears. His aunt had continued what her _lord_ had started, and Draco had been half dead when he was finally allowed to receive basic healing. Enough to hide, but not cure, the injuries or the pain; the price of his perceived _failure_.

He had known this would be the result, had known what would happen. But he had done it anyway. He had sacrificed his body and possibly his life, he had feared, for what Harry and Dumbledore called the 'greater good'. In truth, he had done it only for his mother, who had now been sealed in her room in her own home, and Draco was of course, denied entry to see her.

He wouldn't let it beat him, beat _them_. He would see the dark lord gone first, he knew it. Just as he knew this plan was a very, very dangerous one.

Ultimately, he had known it was for the best. He was a scion of what had always been a dark family, he was heir to a vast estate, and most especially, a vast _library_. He had always been a voracious reader, and it had been that that led him here tonight. Harry and Dumbledore and all the others had said nothing, indeed, he rather expected Dumbledore and Harry, probably Granger, too, had kept the fact secret, but it was clear in Draco's mind that Voldemort's enduring survival had to be horcrux magic. Nothing else fit, and no other dark magic was known to his father's library that explained it.

In truth, he was shocked so many had failed to see the obvious explanation. Nobody survives a killing curse, and though of course, Harry was a glaring exception, the dark lord shouldn't have been one too. Only a horcrux could have preserved him, and as tonight proved, his suspicion that the ring had been that horcrux had proven right.

 _Really, Weasley ought to be kept on a tighter leash, I'm probably not the only Slytherin who could have worked out the significance of that ring, the way he was bragging about Dumbledore's ownership of it. The Gaunt name is old, and all pureblood families keep detailed genealogies. Lord Voldemort himself freely admitted he was the heir of Slytherin, and only one family line had survived into modern times from the house founder._

Still, it had been an extraordinarily lucky guess, from a certain point of view, and one his elusive godfather had all but confirmed when he'd shut down Draco's questioning about the subject the instant he raised it the day before. That was as good as the smoking gun and Severus Snape, for all his subtlety, was an open book to Draco, who knew him best.

There was a risk to Draco's revelation to the dark lord though, beyond the fact of his physical safety. If the dark lord had not already suspected the possibility Dumledore would have figured out his little immortality scheme and sought to crush it, then Draco as good as possibly raised the dark lord's defences, and further endangered everyone he now had come to be so attached to as well. As he considered it, he knew this was beyond unlikely however. Whatever the dark lord was, he was no fool, and his lack of shock to Draco's news, only anger, confirmed it in his mind.

Above all else what tonight had hopefully done, despite the dark lord's lashing out, was remove any suspicion of Draco's less than enthusiastic support for the 'movement' from his mind. He would be too distracted by Harry and Dumbledore to much consider Draco's own position, and he would likely assume Draco's loyalty for revealing such a crucial discovery. It was a trick straight from his godfather's books, though he would never admit it, and now he had two prizes for his pain.

The first: the Dark lord had asked him to get the diadem of Ravenclaw, and that removed any doubt from Draco. He created horcruxes in the plural, why else would he want this object so badly? If he played it right, he could help Harry destroy the damn thing, and the dark lord would be that closer to defeat, but this would be very risky to do. He'd have a price for this, and he knew what he'd be demanding of Dumbledore and Harry in exchange for this crucial information.

The second prize was simpler: he had finally, unambiguously, taken his first step to dismantling the dark lord's reign, to freeing his family and, hopefully, his own soul, from the clutches of this hideous monster. He was still in danger, enormous danger, but if he could pull it off, it would be worth it.

 _Besides, whatever else might be said, I really am, to my shock and horror, coming to like some of my new 'friends'. Especially Susan..._

Thoughts lingering on the last, Draco Malfoy prepared his possessions and left the manor, venturing into the night, and as he left he bade a silent farewell to his home, and a final prayer.

 _When I return, please, let my mother be safe._

With a twirling motion, he vanished into the night.

 **-** **Moments that define us -**

A piercing, horrifying yell rang through the empty cave, bringing even the legion of undead guardians below the depths of the black cavern to quail at the fury of their lord.

 _It's GONE! How?! How did the old man get it?!_

His fury really did overtake him this time, and for the second time that night, Lord Voldemort lost all control. His anger boiled over him, his red eyes literally spewed forth flame as he wandlessly sent a jet of pure Fiendyre swirling through the cavern, burning every last Inferi to blackened, charred husks, lifeless and unmoving for the final time. His yells resounded, the roar of the flames defeaning, and with a final shout of pure _hatred_ , he flew from the scorched and crumbling cave, back to Malfoy Manor.

 _For Draco's sake, that diadem better be back before sundown tomorrow._

The black shadow swept through the sky and for a single, terrible night, unrelenting death and destruction rained over the coast of England as Lord Voldemort let the reckoning come, the promise of a greater one burning through his mind.


	14. Chapter 14: A plan in motion

Severus Snape was, as ever, the master of the 'cool and collected'. Despite that, he could barely disguise his rising concern as he sat in the headmaster's office, listening to his godson's words.

"I'll need your guarantee, headmaster."

Both Dumbledore and Draco turned to Severus with surprise, though it was difficult to discern if it was because he had interrupted, or the edge of panic that had come into his voice. Severus ignored the questioning expression of the headmaster and the surprise of his godson, instead pressing on, mastering his fears as he did.

"Don't look at me that way, you know well enough who Draco and Narcissa are to me, headmaster, and if you're agreeing to this _plan_ , I want a commitment."

The headmaster brought his hands together on his desk, leaning back slightly to consider Severus' face, an unreadable expression on his own as he considered his words. After a moment, the headmaster turned to Draco.

"I assume you are now aware of Severus' double role, Draco?"

Draco nodded his head tersely, eager to just get on with the task at hand, but curious also at his godfather's interruption.

 _Not like him to lose his cool, this must be more dangerous than I thought it would be_.

"Then I need not guard my words, I suppose. Severus," the headmaster turned to look at Severus again, a serious expression now written in his features, "I will require you to accompany Draco to fetch this _item_. I assume there is no need to warn either of you not to touch it directly, or keep it too close to yourselves?"

Both Severus and Draco shook their heads. Severus' knowledge of the dark arts was extensive, he _was_ still the professor on the subject after all, and horcruxes were known to him, if only originally as legends. That Draco knew more was a little more surprising but then, he supposed, Lucius would have kept information on all kinds of dark magic at the manor. It only made sense Draco might have come across it before. Still, Severus wasn't satisfied. After all, it was Draco's condition for the information that had him so distracted.

"Your warning is unnecessary headmaster, I am already well-versed in such magic and Draco, since he seems to know about them independently, presumably knows to leave well enough alone too. But it wasn't Draco's safety alone that concerns me."

Draco looked mildly surprised, if only mildly, but the headmaster raised his eyebrows at this comment, silently inviting Severus to continue.

"If we are to retrieve this diadem tonight, then I must insist the diversion at Malfoy Manor go ahead tonight too. We have no idea what safeguards the dark lord has put in place, and the fact he was not aware of our _interference_ with his previous horcruxes does not necessarily mean he doesn't have protections in place for this one. Especially if it is one he felt safe enough to allow Draco to retrieve. We cannot risk a reprisal against Narcissa before we have time to act."

"Safe enough, or perhaps desperate enough, Severus." The headmaster sighed, removing his glasses and rubbing an eye tiredly, before idly twirling his glasses in his hands, deep in thought.

"It is not so much a question of distraction though, Severus. I cannot risk an outright attack on Tom's lair in order to save one person, not even one you both care for in your own way. I cannot ask the Order to risk their lives for that."

The headmaster, to his credit, thought Severus, did at least look sincere about that, even if it was hypocritical.

 _You had no problem doing it for Potter._

Luckily, Severus was prepared for this excuse.

"Fortunately headmaster, I have a plan in mind already."

The headmaster's eyes met Severus' own, questions clear within them, and with a reassuring pat on Draco's shoulder, which seemed to do little more than irritate the boy, Severus pressed on.

"The manor, as it so happens, is in a state of chaos at present. The dark lord left again not long after meeting Draco, and has not returned. In his stead Bellatrix has taken over, as is to be expected. However, the defences are still in disorder as a result of the months of neglect in the dark lord's absence, and the fact is none of his followers dare take charge of organising the manor, as he gave no specific order of who should do so."

The headmaster leaned back, brows furrowed as he thought on this. It was indeed, an interesting piece of news, and an opportunity in itself. Perhaps a plan could be made...

Severus reflected, as he watched the headmaster thinking, that the disarray at the manor demonstrated better than anything else could the ultimate flaw in the dark lord's 'system' of rule. If he gave no specific order, no action was ever taken for fear of his wrath for appearing to act _independently._ Perhaps even _usurping_ his authority. It had been the main reason the dark reign of the death eaters had ended so suddenly with the apparent fall of their lord in 1981: absent their absolute ruler, they effectively ceased to function.

The headmaster evidently had made a few conclusions of his own, as he now looked back at Severus, eyes still wary, and responded.

"Well, this is interesting news Severus, not least for the question of what, again, Tom is up to. I have a few guesses of course, and given Draco has been so hastily commanded to retrieve one of the horcruxes, it would seem to make sense to conclude he is pursuing the rest of them. This presents a problem though; he will soon know, if he does not already, that I have destroyed the ring. Yes Draco," he said, smiling slightly at the smirk on Draco's face and guessing the reason quickly, "that was a horcrux too. I ought to have guessed that forbidding discussion of the term alone would not keep some of Harry's livelier companions from giving away clues. Chalk it up to an old man's lack of foresight."

The headmaster leaned forward, mind still racing it seemed, and turned back to Severus yet again.

"This seems, however, more reason to be cautious. If Tom returns before we strike, or during our attack, he will likely be...less than pleased by his discoveries. His reunion, as it now seems he is aiming for, with his horcruxes has succeeded to a far greater degree than I would have liked in strengthening his connection to his magic. He will be more dangerous than he has been since his fall, and many lives will be lost if he does strike."

Severus pondered this, before speaking again.

"Well headmaster, there is one final factor to consider: the dementors." The headmaster gave a weary nod, seeming to anticipate Severus' agreeing with his assessment on the danger of an attack, so his face took on a look of surprise when Severus continued speaking.

"Their presence has become impossible to hide. The dark lord's admittedly few sources in the ministry have determined that the aurors have become suspicious at the ongoing mist around the manor and several times plans were made to investigate, before the dark lord's sources promptly obliviated them away. I propose that the dementors provide us the opportunity we require."

The headmaster said nothing, simply staring at Severus, though it was more appropriate to say staring _through_ him, as he considered this. Severus therefore pressed his point.

"Alone, we and the Order have little chance against the dark lord's forces at the manor, limited though they are. However, if the ministry attacked the dementors and the Order were to, let's say, find a way in through the back door as the aurors draw attention in the forest, _that_ could give us the opportunity to seize Narcissa, and perhaps a few higher up death eaters to boot. They may anticipate a diversionary attack, but with the lack of the dark lord's brilliant mind in the counter-strike, they likely won't. Bellatrix will want to get into the fray quickly, and none of them will think of or care about Narcissa."

The headmaster nodded his head, stroking his beard as he thought, and Draco's eyes meanwhile darted between his godfather and headmaster, pleading with his eyes for the headmaster's acceptance of the plan. To his relief, the headmaster smiled.

"Well Severus, it remains a very risky plan, but there again, this is a war. This is likely our best chance to strike at Tom's lair. He won't leave it so undefended again once he returns, and if we can secure some of his best too, the possible sacrifice we may make in the attack could well be justified."

Draco smiled for the first time since entering the office, elated that his mother would be safe.

 _I'm coming back for you, like I said I would._

As he thought that, he noticed that both his headmaster and godfather were watching him, both with a frown of concern. He _knew_ that kind of look.

"I'm going, there's no negotiation to be had."

The headmaster looked set to argue but Severus, watching his godson intently, interrupted before he could begin.

"Save it headmaster, his mind is made up. He hates the comparison, but he's rather like Potter once he's made a choice. You can't deny him this, and you certainly can't argue his safety moments after asking him to retrieve a _horcrux_."

The headmaster winced at Severus' words, before giving a slightly rueful smile to his best agent.

"You know him best Severus and you make a fair point, I will trust your judgement. After this though, you are committed Draco. Tom will kill you for the betrayal."

Draco looked at the headmaster incredulously, before speaking as though he was fearing for the headmaster's sanity.

"Don't you think he'd kill me for failing to return the diadem to begin with? Or hell, perhaps simply because he's _angry_ , and I am no big sacrifice to him?"

The headmaster blinked at the venom as much as the meaning in the words but nodded, with a slightly disapproving look, though recognising the point. He turned back to Severus.

"Still, even despite that consideration, Draco is not to lead the rescue effort. I want you in that role, Severus."

Severus blinked, shock evident.

"Me? But, don't you think that might raise some suspicions about _me_ among my fellow death eaters?"

The headmaster smiled and shook his head.

"Really, Severus, you were the potions master for over a decade. You already have the tools you need on that score."

"Polyjuice."

"Polyjuice."

The headmaster smiled, arms stretched out as though that settled everything. Severus supposed, grudgingly, that it very much did. Truth be told, he hoped he met Bellatrix in that mansion. Even if she wouldn't know it was him, beating her soundly would be _immensely_ gratifying. Still, he was concerned for Draco's safety, and would be sure to watch him closely.

"Very well then, that's all agreed I think?" The headmaster asked, looking at both Severus and Draco, who each nodded quickly in turn. "Excellent, then there's no time to waste. I will alert Kingsley and Amelia to prepare the aurors, they should be able to prepare their best without too many questions raised, and they know who can be trusted well enough. Everything should be in place once you get back."

Severus and Draco nodded again and sensing the dismissal, made for the door.

As they left, the headmaster approached his watchful phoenix, who evidently had been listening in to everything, and gave an approving trill at his approach.

"Thank you, old friend, for your confidence. You know what to do, be sure to alert the Order too."

A soft trill and a flash of flame later, and Fawkes had left for his task. With that Albus Dumbledore sat at his desk and reached out with his magic, attempting to locate Tom. With little success, unfortunately. It seemed his old pupil was hiding himself very well now, which could only confirm he had discovered their efforts to prevent his reunion with the horcruxes. That was a problem, a very _big_ problem, but nothing could be done now. He did wish Draco had asked before taking such a reckless risk by alerting Tom.

 _No use crying over spilt Firewhiskey._

Sighing, he chose to dedicate the time until the Order were in place to completing the last of his notes on his other major task: destroying the horcrux inside Harry. He rather thought he had found a way to _extract_ the soul, but to do so while keeping the host safe was another matter entirely. He'd need confirmation, absolute proof, before he tried anything.

 _Perhaps the Bones and Patil family archives will have some ideas?_

It was a thought to consider. Both families were now close to Harry and his friends, and both had access to a wealth of magical knowledge. The Patil archives in particular, having inclusions of knowledge from the Orient as well as mainland Europe, might be able to shed some light on the workings of horcruxes. It wasn't certain, but it was his best hope.

The headmaster scribbled these thoughts down and then dropped his quill on the side of his desk, leaning into his armchair with a weary sigh. He simply didn't have the energy he used to, and tonight was going to be _so_ demanding on his energy. As he considered that thought he raised his arm, to contemplate his ever-present injuries. It served only to accentuate the point. His time was running out, and he still had so much to do.

 _Promises to keep_.

He would keep this promise, he knew it; he would keep it, because it was a promise to Harry. And Harry had always kept _his_ word when the headmaster had needed him, had trusted him with his secrets.

 _And forgiven me my terrible mistakes. Oh, Lily, I am so sorry._

He could not take the years of misery Harry had suffered back, nor could he excuse or forgive his own failure to heed Arabella Figg's warnings of Harry's upbringing. He simply hadn't been able to believe that family could fail Harry so terribly.

 _Given my own experiences, I ought to have known better._

Yet still, Harry had welcomed his headmaster's friendship, had seemed to forgive everything and chosen even to embrace him, to trust him and look to him for guidance. That was a kind of ability to forgive and to recognise the goodness in others he had always preached but rarely been able, truly, to practice. Trust was not part of Albus Dumbledore's repertoire.

 _For Harry's sake, and his young friends, he would return that loyalty and trust._ _He just had to hold on long enough to do it_.

As he stretched his arm to observe it, and felt the dead skin shriek out a protest, he knew that this would be easier said than done. But what promise is ever easy to keep?

 **-** **Moments that define us -**

The room of requirement was still and silent. Every footstep Draco and Severus took echoed around them, the whispers of their movement rushing down the rows of discarded items in an ominous, stretched out murmur that seemed to boom in the quiet.

 _It's here, I can feel it._

Severus, like the headmaster, was a man who knew enough of dark magic to detect the stench of it on the air. This room, huge though it was, with enormous amounts of old magic lingering in it, could not hide the scent, clear and sharp. Tendrils of it crawled over the dusty items, worming towards he and Draco, pulling them towards it like a long, withered and sinister hand, a rotten finger beckoning them on. He tapped Draco's shoulder, pointing his chin towards a very large collection of furniture a few rows across.

"It's over there Draco, I can feel it strongly now."

Draco's eyes widened with excitement, but quickly tempered, Severus noticed, by a hint of fear. He took only a moment to master his reaction however before clenching his jaw and nodding, not hesitating to take the lead as they moved on.

 _And they say only a Gryffindor can be brave?_

They made their way quietly down to a very large dressing table, movements still soft as mice, despite the fact they were alone in this room.

 _Ah, but if it really is a horcrux, then we most certainly are not, and what else can this foul corruption be?_

Severus felt sick as they approached the table, and there, innocently placed on the table before them, it gleamed.

"The diadem of Ravenclaw." Draco spoke in hushed tones of reverence, eyes filled with the sparkling blue light of the gem encrusted diadem, glinting at them both invitingly.

"Stop there Draco, no further."

Severus could see the diadem, or more specifically, the dark lord's soul, was already getting to work. Pulses of magic were being directed to both of them, whispering promises of power, of knowledge, of infinite achievements. The honeyed words of the monster beneath the mask having no effect on Severus, though Draco was clearly struggling.

With a shuddering intake of breath Draco steadied himself, using the calming technique Severus had long ago taught him to clear his mind, before turning and nodding at his godfather. Severus said nothing, but turned back to the diadem, considering the best course of action.

"Picking it up is out of the question, of course, give me a moment, Draco."

Draco watched as his godfather cast a series of complex charms, checking for and disarming whatever dark curses lingered on the diadem. After a few minutes of this, his godfather sighed and looked at him.

"We have a problem Draco. The diadem is clearly guarded by a terrible curse but I have never seen anything like it, it is likely the dark lord's own invention."

"So, what do we do?" Draco asked, nervous again at witnessing the real evidence of fear in his godfather's eyes.

"We cannot remove it, I dare not even attempt levitation of any kind for fear the curse will react to the magic. Our only option is destruction." Draco's eyes widened. "You have the sword, Draco?"

Draco nodded, expanding the bag he kept in his pocket out to its' usual size, and removing from within it the sword of Gryffindor. He had not wanted to bring it, insisting the headmaster ought to use it if destruction were necessary, but when he'd first proposed the 'deal', the headmaster had insisted on their having the sword to hand.

 _Just in case._

Well, he supposed it made sense, but even so, he felt _odd_ holding Gryffindor's heirloom as he made to pass it to his godfather, who gripped it firmly before turning back to the diadem.

"Are you sure it won't do something if you strike it?" Severus turned to look at Draco, lips pursed, before shaking his head.

"I'm sure of nothing but we have no choice, and I have the distinct impression this diadem knows our intentions now. It will likely make efforts to seal the room off if we leave now. There is no choice."

Saying so Severus raised the sword and brought it swiftly down upon the diadem, neatly cleaving it in two. He scarcely had time to marvel at his own strength, when a terrible scream of rage burst from the now smoking horcrux, and a curl of darkness rushed out around Severus. He had no time to react as his vision failed him, and it was quickly replaced by the screaming rage of the dark lord, burning into his mind.

 _You killed her!_

It simply echoed itself, over and over, and Severus fell into complete despair as the memory of his greatest regret surged to the surface.

 _It was your fault she died!_

"Godfather!"

Severus could say nothing, could see nothing and simply fell to the ground, quickly passing out. Draco, panicking, quickly levitated him and with one last glance at the darkness now filling the room he raced to the exit, his godfather's still body floating beside him and a whirlwind of screaming blackness streaming behind him.

As he raced through the doors he turned in time to see a monstrous, twenty foot high vision of the dark lord, eyes gleaming red in rage, robes billowing around him and screaming at Draco in impotent fury. With a small squeak of fear he slammed the doors closed, and a moment later a final, piercing shriek of rage reached his ears, before silence finally returned to the deserted hallway.

 _It's gone._

But as he looked at his godfather still floating beside him, his heart nearly stopped. Severus Snape was not breathing.


	15. Chapter 15: Darkness ascending

As Severus opened his eyes, his mind a swirl of confusion, he was aware of only two things. The first was that he had just collapsed over Lily for the first time in over a decade, and it was _not_ a happy reunion at all. The second was that the wrinkled, overly concerned face of the headmaster was hovering dangerously close to his own, anxiety spread across it in a way Severus found _extremely_ uncomfortable.

"Why am I here, headmaster?"

The headmaster blinked, very much owl-like, seeming completely stumped by the question, so Severus decided to clarify, sitting up with a groan as he did so.

"That wasn't a philosophical thought headmaster, I mean to ask: why am I here instead of in the excessive care of Pomfrey?"

A look of recognition replaced the confusion and anxiety as the headmaster clearly realised his potions master was, at the very least, mentally still sound. Or as far as could be expected, all things considered. As Severus moved off the couch he had been laid on in the corner of the study, he made his way shakily to the usual chair across the desk. As he sat cast a querying glance at the headmaster, who had still not responded.

"Ah, my apologies Severus, I was just relieved you recovered so quickly. We're here because, well, given what young Draco told me of the events downstairs, I felt you would probably prefer not to be 'interrogated' if I may be forgiven for saying so, by our dear Pomfrey."

Severus, still a little muddled, thought on that for a few moments before nodding curtly, choosing not to address the elephant in the room, as they say. He did appreciate the headmaster's thoughtfulness though, and gave an effort at a grimace that was meant to be a show of thanks as he asked, "My thanks headmaster, but how long have I been here? Where is Draco, for that matter?"

The headmaster moved to sit across from Severus, still watching him closely but seeming to be more relaxed now, and gave a small smile of reassurance.

"He's fine, Severus, I had Pomfrey give him a little something to calm him while you came to. He'll be waiting for you at the entrance hall when the two of you leave for the manor. If you're still willing to go there, of course? As to your first question, it's only been around an hour. You did give me and Draco quite a fright though, but I must commend you for your bravery."

"Bravery?" Severus looked incredulous, and was miffed when the headmaster gave his typical, knowing smile at the disbelief.

"Indeed. Not many can say they've destroyed a horcrux personally. You now join that prestigious list."

Severus said nothing, full recall of the events having returned in clear detail. He supposed he ought to be proud of it, but he _did_ collapse, and Draco...

 _Wait, did Draco see what I saw?!_

His eyes shot up to meet the headmaster's, who looked back for a moment before giving a small smile of recognition.

"Your collapse is nothing to be ashamed of Severus, you know as well as I that no horcrux ever goes without a fight, and forcing a victim to relieve their worst moments is a tried and true method of Tom's."

The headmaster spoke softly, and Severus sensed the invitation in the words. He didn't want to talk about it though, there was nothing to be said. The past was the past, and the realisation that it was the dark lord's spirit that had forced his shame to the front of his mind once again; that it was the dark lord who, indeed, had brought that shame on him in the first place, quickly purged him of any uncertainty or indecisiveness. He was ready.

"Well, since that horcrux is down, we now are on borrowed time, are we not? The sooner we attack the manor, the better."

The headmaster watched him carefully a moment longer before nodding, concern now replacing the compassion in his eyes.

"Yes, that we are. I've had word from the Order and we have Kingsley, Tonks and Moody able to join the strike tonight. I want our team small and agile, no need to draw attention before we get Narcissa out. The ministry aurors meanwhile are already preparing to, as they put it, 'remedy' the dementor situation. As the dementors joined Tom last autumn, they have concluded the death eaters may be present at the manor without us having to drop any hints, which is very useful, as you can imagine, for maintaining our cover, and it also means they're going in with their eyes open."

Severus nodded, having hoped for the same conclusion himself. He didn't like the thought of the ministry walking into a death eater trap but they were, at least, anticipating the possibility, and that counted for a great deal. Still, one other complication sprang to mind.

"What about Potter? Surely he and his friends will want to take part?"

"Yes indeed," The headmaster smiled, nodding with a somewhat exasperated expression. "I have, however, convinced him to focus his efforts on consulting with a couple of his friends on the removal of his own horcrux problem. He was going to refuse but, well, you know him as well as I do, whatever your opinion of him. He won't risk endangering his friends' lives while he still has that fragment within him, so not much convincing was required."

Severus nodded curtly, grudgingly acknowledging, at the very least, that particular aspect of Potter's character. Really, he ought to have been a Hufflepuff with all that loyalty. Perhaps the Bones girl was a good influence...or a bad one, depending on your views.

"Very well headmaster, then it seems we are ready to depart. I will prepare one of my Polyjuice vials, it's rather lucky I keep samples of hair around for experimentation." The headmaster's eyes glinted at that with something bordering on amusement.

"Very fortunate indeed, Severus. One might think you were a spy with you having such things around." Severus said nothing, seeing no reason to dignify that dreadful effort at humour with a response. Instead he stood, inclining his head to the headmaster and, receiving a silent if somewhat disappointed acknowledgement, he left the office and made his way to his own.

 _Here's to keeping a strong stomach for that foul potion._

 **\- Moments that define us -**

Draco was nervous. He hated to admit it, absolutely detested admitting it, but there it was. It was hard to tell if he was more anxious about the night ahead, or the sudden collapse of his godfather. Truth be told, they were equally terrifying thoughts on their own. His godfather was not a man of weakness, and to see him collapse like that had been beyond scary. They had accomplished their goal, but he hoped against hope it hadn't cost his godfather too much. Even Pomfrey's calming drought had done little to assuage his anxieties and doubts, but Dumbledore had assured him that his godfather was fine, just mentally exhausted.

As he continued to pace in the entrance hall, fingering his wand and considering these thoughts, he was shaken from his reverie as a young, twenty something girl approached him. He'd never met anyone like her in Hogwarts before though, but at her age he supposed he wouldn't have. She was rather tall and had a foul look on her face, which was framed by light brown hair of shoulder length and a rather pretty face, even with the sullen brown eyes staring out at him from it.

 _An oddly familiar look of displeasure._

It was then he noticed the headmaster coming up behind the girl, and most strangely of all, the headmaster seemed to be trying not to _laugh_ , which struck Draco as unusually rude and massively inappropriate.

 _Why do I have a really bad feeling about this._

"Draco."

 _Oh bugger._

He said nothing to the light but curt voice of the girl and simply looked at his headmaster with a face that seemed to vacillate between confusion and horrified comprehension. This seemed only to amuse Dumbledore enormously, who chuckled heartily before answering his unspoken question.

"Severus may have, ah, placed the wrong hair in the wrong jar," At this the girl/godfather snarled and muttered furiously, facing the floor, while the headmaster laughed again clearly having the time of his life. With his best attempt at a straight face, he spoke calmly again. "At the least, Tom would never expect Severus to disguise himself in quite _this_ way."

At this, Draco could say nothing as the girlfather, as he was now internally already calling...him, began cursing profusely.

"You're damn right he wouldn't expect this, which was the plan!" His girlfather didn't sound remotely convincing, not least because he was blushing quite considerably and Draco, with an increasing feeling of dread, realised the blush looked almost _cute_.

 _OK, this is entirely the wrong line of thought, back to business._

"Well, I suppose it works either way, right...godfather?" A sullen Severus Snape harrumphed and nodded at Draco, and the headmaster stopped chuckling, though his eyes were still sparkling like glitter.

"Very well, you're of course quite right, Draco. You'll be meeting with Tonks, Kingsley and Alastor around half a mile outside the boundaries of the manor. While it likely won't react to the two of you apparating in directly, I rather suspect the same won't be true for the Order."

Draco nodded, such defences were standard practice for any wizarding home, and needed no confirmation from him. The headmaster, turning a bit more serious, now placed a hand on his godfather's shoulder briefly before speaking again.

"Well, I suppose this is it then. I wish you both good luck. I am sorry I cannot be there myself until the end, but I cannot risk Tom sensing my presence there before you retrieve your mother."

Draco nodded, only just realising himself that, really, the headmaster ought to have led the attack himself. He supposed, as he thought on it, the headmaster was right. If even Draco could feel the headmaster's magical presence, odds were certain the dark lord would. No sense announcing their presence before their goal was secure.

"If we're all quite ready, let's go then." His godfather spoke, giving a very feminine huff, and striding out into the darkening grounds, lit by the last moments of daylight. The headmaster gave Draco one more look, a paternal pat on the shoulder, and Draco then followed his godfather, silently praying to Merlin, to magic, to anything he could that their mission, whatever happened, was a success.

 _I'm coming mum._

 **\- Moments that define us -**

The dark grounds of his family manor stretched before Draco, and what was once familiar and reassuring now seemed dark and foreboding. At any point there could be a magic defence, a tripwire, of sorts, that might set the entire manor upon them in a fury of dark rage. As it was though, only silence had responded to the rustling of the robes of Draco, his...godfather and the three Order members with them.

It did nothing for Draco's nerves that Moody kept reprimanding him every time he breathed too loudly, or that his pink haired cousin Tonks was continually sniggering at his godfather. Only Kingsley was silent, the consummate professional, leading them alongside Severus carefully and silently towards the rear of the manor.

As they approached closer they reached the garden, and now they really did have to take care. Light from the windows of the manor illuminated the garden quite considerably, and this was compounded further by the flames of torches set throughout it, an artistic choice by his father that Draco was now adding to the list of things to kick his father's shins for. Still, they continued on relatively undisturbed, and Draco almost felt _confident_. Every step brought him closer to his mother, closer to their freedom from their captivity, and for him, free to embrace his new life and his new, if cautious, friendships.

A small part of him, and it was only a small part, but it was there, was wishing Potter and his friends well tonight too. He didn't understand precisely what was going on, but clearly Potter was dealing with a horcrux of his own and Draco didn't envy him the experience after his earlier. His thoughts lingered a little on Susan, whose friendship in particular he'd come to value in recent months, but he quickly pushed all those thoughts away.

 _Focus, this is not the time for idle thoughts._

As though reading his mind Kingsley threw out an arm, hitting Severus in the chest and drawing a very quiet yelp from him before he too stopped, and the rest of them came to a halt beside them.

"We need to wait a moment now, stay focused. It doesn't seem like the ministry has arrived yet." Kingsley's deep, soothing tones spoke calmly, but the concern was evident in his voice.

 _They'd better come tonight, or this is over before it begins._

Draco was unsure what to do and Tonks, to his surprise, spoke softly from his side.

"We'd better go over this one more time then. Draco?" She smiled softly at him, and Draco _almost_ smiled back. He'd always, if very grudgingly and in secret, liked his cousin. The others, with the exception of Kingsley, whose eyes were fixed on the manor, turned to look at him.

"OK, well my godfather knows the inside like the back of his hand too, but it's not really too complicated. My mother is in her own bedroom, which from here is the first floor window, the fourth across from the east side." He pointed up at it and they all looked briefly, before nodding at him to continue.

"As far as I know, the inside of the manor is not particularly heavily guarded with magic. The family wards always were meant to stop intruders even approaching, and my father being my father, no real protections exist once you're through the doors, and even if they do, my own presence should deactivate them for us."

"Which leaves the question of the dark lord's protections," His godfather cut in with a low and higher pitched than usual voice. "To my knowledge, the master bedroom is a fortress of wards, but as Narcissa isn't there, that isn't a concern. Beyond that, defences remain light, as Draco says, but I cannot speak for Narcissa's room. I strongly suspect it will be warded to keep her in."

Moody gave a vigorous nod and a gruff agreement. "My thoughts too. He always keeps his hostages on a short and strong leash. We can expect some nasty curses, but likely nothing all of us together can't disarm, the big problem will be getting her out."

They all nodded at that and Draco felt some anxiety. If, as seemed likely, they had to use brute force to smash the room open, the death eaters would surely hear it. Moving his mother quickly would be absolutely vital, but ultimately, the risk was high and there was little to be done. He continued to chew this thought over, his anxiety burning in him, until, at last, Kingsley spoke.

"It's time, I've seen a number of cloaked figures moving out of the rooms at speed, the ministry is surely here now." Moody nodded at this, magical eye scanning the building and the grounds.

"The dementors are on the move in a hurry too, it's now or never lads...and ladies." Draco's godfather glowered at that but said nothing, instead moving forward, wand out, and they all followed, Draco's heart pounding. They ascended the steps from the garden and Kingsley paused for a moment at the french doors to the kitchen, murmuring incantations.

"No major wards, but there's an alarm ward we don't have time to remove. We need to do this fast." They all cursed at this but having expected no less, simply nodded. With a grim expression Kingsley motioned them to stand back and with a wave of his wand the french doors exploded inwards in a hail of glass and wood, splinters striking the walls inside like shrapnel. Wands out, they quickly moved in, and it was Tonks who spotted the first death eater, who was looking very shell shocked at the window at the end of the room.

"Stupefy!"

He went down immediately, barely able even to fumble for his wand, and Moody rushed up to attach one of the portkeys they'd brought with them to his robes. Once they had Narcissa out, Dumbledore was intending to come in himself to break the wards completely and hopefully secure any disabled death eaters before the dark lord got back.

"Got this one, let's move."

They nodded, following as Moody took the lead, moving into the hallway to the entrance hall, all of them positioned to cover every angle as they moved. Draco's heart was still pounding. Whatever he may be, he wasn't yet a trained fighter, and this was the most terrifying thing he'd ever done. He didn't let it show but instead stood in formation, jaw set and determined.

As they passed into the hall Severus gave a warning shout, and Draco spotted at least three death eaters stationed there, wands whirling to train them on the group. Draco fired a quick stunner off but missed in his panic, and was forced to throw up a shield to protect himself from the sickly, yellow curse that glanced off it in return. Snarling at what he recognised as a particularly vicious acid curse he let loose and hurled a cutting curse at the death eater, leaving the others in the room to his companions. The death eater dodged it, barely, and leapt behind one of the couches, firing a rapid succession of stunners, bone breakers, and Merlin knew what else towards Draco, who dove into a roll to dodge them, hiding behind another couch, close to himself.

Thinking quickly he launched an incendio at the death eater's cover, which exploded into fire and, by a miracle, caught the coward's robes too. As the death eater rolled out from behind the couch Draco caught him with a stunner and he came to an immediate halt. For good measure, he hurled a vicious curse at the death eater, breaking his jaw with the force of it, before quickly bringing his attention back to the room. Tonks and Severus had subdued one of the other death eaters, and Kingsley was in the process of attaching a portkey to the third.

 _So far, so good...I think._

Quickly pulling out a portkey of his own, he fastened it to the death eater he'd disabled and recognised with revulsion it was Nott, a man he'd always hated. Giving his body another good kick for good measure, he quickly moved over to the others.

"Up the stairs everybody." His godfather spoke, and they all fell in behind him, with Kingsley beside Severus as they advanced onto the first floor. Peeking into the corridor, they were relieved to see no further guards ahead, and Draco now moved recklessly to the front as they approached the door to his mother's room.

 _Please be OK, please, please, please!_

"Draco!" His godfather spoke sharply and Draco stopped, allowing the others to catch up, knowing he ought not to get carried away.

 _Traps, Draco, always think about traps._

His godfather said nothing however as he and Kingsley and Moody approached the door to his mother's room, and with a nod of confirmation from Draco, got to work on it. Draco set to pacing up and down in the hallway, listening carefully as the distant sounds of what was now clearly a battle between aurors and dementors rang out from the front of the manor. They might not have much time, depending on how things went out there, and Draco was anxious to see this done.

"Damn it, it's sealed solid as I expected, I need to blast it. She's in there, alright." Moody spoke gruffly, magical eye fixed on the room. He hauled Kingsley and Draco's godfather aside, before turning his wand back to the door.

"Bombarda!"

Another explosion and a crash of sound as wood, plaster and stone were blasted aside, and a wave of smoke billowed into the hallway. Draco coughed violently but pushed forward into the room, and his eyes finally settled on his mother, still lying on the bed as she had been the last time he'd seen her. He rushed to her side, but she was unconscious.

 _Breathing, though. She's alive!_

He said nothing, not needing to be told by Moody or the others to hurry, and simply swept her up into his arms carefully having checked her for injuries first, but she seemed fine.

"OK, let's get out of here!"

The others needed no further prompting, and with Kingsley back in the lead with Moody, they swept out of the room, Tonks helping him carry his mother. They quickly swept back into the hall, and seemed to have a clear run for it. Then, he felt it.

"He's here."

The others looked at Draco, eyes wide, and he knew they felt it too. That stifling, ice cold presence, the sensation of absolute darkness settling over them all. The dark lord must have been closer than they thought, and now he was coming back. They stared at each other for only a moment, before Moody spoke sharply.

"Move it! Out boy, now!"

Not needing further encouragement Draco almost flew down the hallway to the kitchen, and burst into the garden, rushing as fast as he could towards the woods, the others close behind. This was proving way, _way_ too close. But as they just began to move out of the garden towards the woods he felt the ice cold presence grow sharper and he knew, instinctively, that they were caught. He turned, as did the others, to look back at the manor, and the sight that greeted him froze his heart.

The red eyes burned like fiery stars in the night sky, black robes fluttering around him, as the dark lord materialised out of a whirl of smoke in the garden, not far from where they had just been.

"Everyone, down!"

Moody spoke as softly as he could, and they all fell to the grass as silently as possible, Draco carefully placing his mother at his side as they watched breathlessly as the dark lord stood, eyes burning into the woods behind them.

"It is useless hiding, Draco. Narcissa is incapable of movement, which can only mean it's you out there."

Draco, he was ashamed to admit it, very nearly lost control of himself at those words. He'd _never_ heard the dark lord speak like that before. His voice was no longer cold, it was empty completely. Totally devoid of emotion and yet, he knew, hiding a fury beyond anything he'd ever known. The dark lord was beyond murderous tonight, and was possessed of a calm that was more terrifying than the worst scream of rage as he slowly, and with no sense of concern, began to stride towards where they lay.

"Apparate, boy."

He couldn't tell if it was Kingsley or Moody or even his godfather who spoke, but he knew that command was his only chance. He _had_ to save his mother, but he couldn't side-apparate them all.

"Take her and go lad, _now_."

It was Moody, and he realised what he was intending. Draco glanced at his cousin and his godfather, eyes pleading with them to join him, but they shook their heads, Tonks smiling as best she could.

"Go, Draco, we'll buy you time."

He couldn't speak, couldn't say anything, and Draco knew he had to go. It would all be a waste if he didn't. He spoke only two words as he gripped his mother's arm, and rolled in the grass to crack away.

"Thank you."

As he vanished, he heard the dark lord's shriek of rage, and as he realised just what his cousin and godfather and the others would now face, his heart broke.

 **\- Moments that define us -**

"You flee?! You flee from me?! As you _should_! _Traitor!_ "

The dark lord was incoherent with rage, and as the crack of Draco's apparition resounded he exploded with wrath, sending a jet of white hot, explosive energy, flying across the grass, lighting it in a blaze in at least a twenty foot circle. Tonks, Moody and Kingsley didn't move, nor did Severus. The dark lord might not have noticed them. Perhaps he could only sense Draco and Narcissa?

As the dark lord's eyes came back down upon their position though, they knew that was a vain hope and with a twisted, hate filled smile, the dark lord strode calmly through the blazing grass, his black cloak flowing around him, eyes boring into them all with murder glinting in them.

"Well, at least there's a consolation prize. Good to see you again, _Mad Eye_ , and is that Kingsley Shacklebolt? You honour me with your presence. Ah, and Nymphadora, Bella will be _so_ happy to be reunited with you, I think."

His eyes roved over them, not a hint of fear or concern in them and they all knew, could tell the moment they'd first felt him arrive, they had no chance at all. The dark lord was stronger than they could remember, and they couldn't stand against him if they tried. That didn't stop them all from standing regardless, determined to go down fighting, and his amusement gave way to confusion and suspicion as his eyes fell on the disguised Severus.

"And who is this, I wonder? A new recruit? My, my, they don't make young ladies as they used to, clearly. More's the pity for young Draco, I suppose?"

Severus said nothing, simply glaring at the dark lord, who looked vaguely amused at his reaction, but quickly raised his wand.

"Very well then, there's nothing more to say."

As Voldemort's wand raised however, a flash of flame erupted beside them and as they turned to look, _relief_ spread through Severus. Severus could scarcely admit it, but the sight of Albus Dumbledore and his phoenix here beside them filled him with more relief than he could ever say.

 _Draco must have told him, I suppose it's I who owe him my life now._

The dark lord said nothing as Dumbledore stepped forward, silently bidding the others to move away, which they swiftly did, and Fawkes swept down to them, whisking them all quickly away. As they were swept away in phoenix flame, Severus gave a silent prayer.

 _Good luck Albus, and make damn sure you come back._

 **\- Moments that define us -**

"Dumbledore."

The word was spoken with absolutely no emotion whatsoever, which surprised Albus somewhat, though he hid his shock. Just as he'd hidden his shock as he'd arrived. Tom's power was returning swiftly, evidently his reunion with the horcruxes was working better than hoped, and his physical appearance reflected it, though he hadn't lost his red eyes. What really concerned him though was the pure, clear spark of _insanity_ now lighting Tom's eyes. Clearly he'd found his lost horcruxes were gone, and Dumbledore knew this fight would be his hardest yet, if the surge of power around Tom was any indication.

"Tom, I wish I could say you look well, but evidently time has not been any kinder to you than me."

Riddle snarled at him, eyes gleaming brighter still and as Dumbledore looked on him, he knew Tom could never now be redeemed. He'd become nothing more than a black _void_ of magic. A centre for the darkest power imaginable, and the pure expression of perverted magic in absolute form. There could be no holding back, he'd have to strike to end Tom from now on; capture was no longer an option.

"Save it Dumbledore, I know what you and _the boy_ have been doing, and it's time to end it. I am Lord Voldemort, and I will make the world _remember_ why it fears that name!"

Before Dumbledore could do more than brace himself, a barrage of twisted magic hit his shields. It wasn't even spellwork, Tom was simply unleashing complete destruction itself upon him, and the ground around him charred and blasted away, leaving Dumbledore stood on a small platform above the broken remains of the grassy earth. He quickly disapparated and re-positioned himself on the roof of the Malfor Manor as Tom transformed into a dark, floating blackness, zooming towards the roof where he had reappeared.

 _How did he anticipate that?!_

With reflexes honed by a lifetime of skill Dumbledore took no time at all to react, sending a jet of light at Tom to force him back into physical form. With a shriek of rage, Tom's body re-materialised and he fell out of the air to collide heavily with the roof, but rolling back to his feet with one smooth movement. Predictably, he sent a jet of green light hurtling towards Albus, who quickly dodged it and, with a circular wave of his wand, stripped the tiles from the roof, turning them into projectiles to hurl at Tom.

Tom, with a swift movement, flung himself behind a chimney stack and before Albus could do more than shatter the tiles against it, he had already leapt back out, bringing with him a wave of curses, which pelted the roof behind Albus as he deflected them away, blasting holes into the manor and starting dozens of fires around them.

 _This is very bad_.

Tom's speed was faster than it had been in a long time, and the pure _energy_ in the attacks was exhausting Albus to deflect. He couldn't let this become a battle of attrition, he had to take the initiative. With a flash of inspiration, he swept his wand up, sending a jet of smoke to surround Tom, blinding him. He heard Tom cursing, saw the flashes of red light as he sought to dispel the smoke, and with no hesitation he sent, for the first time in his life, a jet of green light into the space where his enemy now stood, unable to suppress, even though he knew it now had to come to this, the regret he felt as he did so. As the smoke cleared, Albus' sad expression turned to alarm and fear, as he realised Tom's 'body' was nowhere to be seen, and judging by the magic he still felt, his old pupil was very much alive.

 _Where is he?!_

Whirling around, Albus had little time to react as a hooded dementor swept at him out of the darkness, and he just barely avoided the clutching hands, his mind filled with screams.

 _No!_

He desperately tried to cast his Patronus, but nothing came to him as the terrible sounds of that dreadful fight filled his mind. The loss of family filled him again, and Albus very nearly lost control. As he collapsed to his knees however, as the dementor swept towards him, he _felt_ rather than heard a soft, light and calming call fill him, and the darkness that was threatening to swallow him faded.

 _Fawkes, my friend?_

His Phoenix flamed into being beside him, wings spread and Albus, drained beyond belief and still filled with emotion, had little thought but to grasp his old friend's proffered tail feathers as he felt rather than saw or heard the shriek of frustration and rage of Tom Riddle. He barely had time to look, to see his old pupil shift back from Dementor to wizard, confusion and terror filling him, before he vanished away in a surge of flames.

He landed back in his office, collapsed to his knees and vomited onto the floor, body aching and mind reeling from everything; from the fight, from the memories but most of all, from what he had just seen.

 _Just what on Earth have you become, Tom?_

As he fell spread-eagled to the floor, barely registering the yells of horror of what must be the others in his office, his mind lingered on that question, on the realisation that his former student really had become a monster now, in every way. He had failed him, had failed Tom Riddle, completely and utterly.


	16. Chapter 16: The purging

Harry would be lying if he didn't admit he wasn't a little nervous. He'd still be lying even then, because he was more than a _little_ nervous about this idea. Not one of his best, and though he hated to say it, not one of Hermione's best either. Of course, he'd never tell her that, as she was fretting over this quite enough on her own, but it didn't lessen his own fears to see her wringing her hands as she fussed about the cauldron she, Slughorn and Dumbledore were currently anxiously monitoring.

"Is it ready?" His tone was higher pitched than he'd like, and he took a steadying breath, hoping nobody would notice his anxiety.

 _Fat chance of that._

"It will be soon, lad. You just focus on clearing your mind, and let the potions trio focus on the brewing, eh?" Slughorn ruined the reprimand by winking, but he appreciated the joviality nonetheless. Merlin knew it was necessary, what with both Hermione and even Dumbledore looking as though they wanted nothing more than to empty the cauldron out onto the floor of the hospital wing.

 _Well, they could try, but I doubt they'd live long enough to manage it if Pomfrey got even a hint of it._

He refocused his efforts on clearing his mind as best he could, constructing the best occlumency defences around himself he could manage. According to the texts Parvati's father had managed to locate for them, occlumency would be key to the purging.

 _Ugh, got to stop calling it that, makes me feel even more sick about having that swine in my head than I am already_.

He couldn't clear his mind completely though, not least because every time he turned his head away from the cauldron to do so, he immediately laid eyes on Narcissa Malfoy, sprawled in the bed beside his, and worry for Draco and his mother swiftly replaced his own fears each time he did.

 _She should have woken up by now, must've been one hell of a curse to keep her under so long._

He didn't know exactly what was keeping Draco's mum comatose, but knowing Riddle, it'd be nothing good, that was for sure. He was glad, truly glad, that Draco had succeeded, that everyone got out OK during the raid the previous week, but he still wished he'd been there. Not because he thought he could have done anything, really, but every time he recalled that all the death eaters escaped, he got angrier.

 _If Riddle hadn't shown up, we could have had Sirius' murderer safely...well, perhaps not behind bars, but she could've been locked away!_

As he understood it though, Bellatrix hadn't been at the mansion at the time, it was just a group of lackeys guarding the place. That seemed odd to him, but he supposed nothing much could be done. No use crying over spilt Butterbeer, right? He was happy to see everyone got out, although Professor Dumbledore had seemed _very_ shaken, and that had worried Harry most of all. For a solid wall of resolve and power to be shaken to crumbling would have taken one hell of a blow; Riddle certainly wasn't playing games anymore.

He realised, though, that Riddle had probably stopped playing games a long time ago, but it still shook him to think that Dumbledore, by his own account, had been so badly shaken in their brief encounter. He had barely been concerned at all the previous summer at the ministry, and yet now, he was clearly afraid, though he still wouldn't say what about or why.

 _Always one for secrets, whatever he thinks he's changed about himself._

"We really do owe the Patil family so much for this," the headmaster said as he stirred the cauldron, drawing feverish nods and murmured agreement from Hermione and Slughorn. Dumbledore had said this repeatedly ever since he'd received the worn scrolls from Padma's father. Harry hadn't asked how he had been convinced to hand them over, but he supposed that, truthfully, it might simply have been an act of goodwill. The Patil family had, according to Hermione, and when did she ever get her history wrong, been a longstanding family of _principle_. What principle, Hermione never explained, but it seemed to be her way of saying they were good people. Which had made it all the more odd they had such dark magic in their archives.

" _Dark magic? No, Harry, this is the precise opposite. Any healer worth their weight carries counters to even the blackest magic imaginable, how else do you defeat it? The Patil family was famed for healing in the asian subcontinent for decades, maybe centuries, and it only makes sense they'd have gathered all the knowledge they could for that."_

Those had been Hermione's words when he'd voiced his concerns. He knew she was right, and it made sense, but somehow he simply couldn't imagine having anything related to horcruxes under his own roof, however large that roof may be, or however much the material might simply be ways to counter them.

Still, he was distracting himself with all these musings, but at the very least it had helped get Harry's mind clear of the fear for the task ahead such that, as he put his mind back to reinforcing his defences, he found they were quick enough to build up and reinforce.

Dumbledore had been very clear that they could take no chances; the potion would, according to the Patil library, serve to force the horcrux out of Harry physically, but it would do nothing to destroy or damage it, much less contain it. Harry needed to protect himself if he was going to avoid the damn thing simply swooping right back into himself. But what would happen to it, even if he did manage that? He had feared it might latch on to one of the others, but Hermione, being her typical practical self, had had a simple answer.

" _Ancient Runes is more than a hobby, Harry." He had smirked at the way her hands planted themselves firmly on her hips, and her usual disapproving frown followed soon after. It always made her seem even more appealling to him when she got cross or serious. Perhaps he was a masochist?_

 _Now, he had thought, there's a question I never would have asked Sirius. I can only imagine his response, and none of the imaginings are particularly pleasant or dignified._

" _Are you listening?!" Hermione had snapped, poking him in the chest, and he snapped off a cheeky salute and an affirmative, which simply made her look even more annoyed. "Seriously Harry, pay attention, you might learn something useful! Anyway, I did a bit of reading, and if you roll your eyes again, you'll lose them! Anyway, I did some reading and a bit of planning, and brought a few runestones to the headmaster that might be useful. He changed a few things, but he said it was a brilliant idea." She had looked so proud at that, he couldn't help but draw her into a hug, telling her in no uncertain terms that her brilliance was always a given, and he knew, at the very least, he had clearly defused her earlier irritation at him, if her crashing her lips to his own had been anything to go by._

Remembering that now brought another smile to his face, and he reaffirmed to himself as he turned to watch his best friend, no, _girlfriend_ , hard at work helping Slughorn measure out the potion, that he would put his whole effort into making sure he got through this intact.

 _Wait, measure out! Oh Merlin, brace for impact!_

He felt a sickening surge of fear pass through his stomach as he watched Hermione and the two professors checking and re-checking the potion repeatedly as they measured it out, and it was hard to tell which was less reassuring: the gloopy, dark purple potion, or the anxious faces of the three brewers. Still, he braced himself, ready to do what had to be done.

"OK my boy, looks like the blighter is ready for the drinking. How is the devil within you?" Slughorn looked anxious, but still battled on with the jolly mask regardless, and Harry felt at least a little better.

"Not a peep, I reckon he's good and cut off from me, but I can't say how long for. We better get this done." Harry raised himself up in the bed, nodding to Dumbledore, who moved over to Narcissa, carefully levitating her up and out of the hospital wing, before returning a few moments later as Slughorn passed Harry a cup of the potion, with Hermione hovering anxiously around his bed.

"Harry, this will be your last chance to back out. This potion was rarely enough used that it doesn't even have a name, not even in the Patil texts. We have no idea what it will do to you." The headmaster watched Harry with anxiety clear in his own expression, and Hermione gripped his hand tightly as the headmaster spoke, clearly doing her best to reassure him. It worked, and he gave her a gentle but firm squeeze back.

"What choice do we have, Professor? It's risk something going wrong with the potion, or leap off the Astronomy tower. I'll take my chances." His effort at humour did little to help, although Slughorn at least had the politeness to chuckle slightly, if without any real humour.

"Harry! Take this seriously will you! There might still be another option." Harry looked at Hermione, her brown eyes staring into his own, fear evident in them, and the slight affront he had felt that she thought he wasn't taking this seriously melted away as he realised she was just scared, and didn't want to say it. Not knowing how to comfort her, he simply leaned over and pulled her into a brief hug, giving her a light peck on the cheek, all too aware of the presence of the professors, but putting all his feelings into the embrace.

He leaned back, and her expression had transformed into one of warmth, though she was still plainly terrified, and for what felt like the thousandth time he vowed to punish himself for making her worry _yet again_. He longed for the day he could assure her it was the last time, and that he would be able to say those words with sincere intent to keep that promise.

 _One day, but not today._

He turned back to the headmaster, who was watching him closely and still anxious, so he put all the strength he could into his next words.

"I'm ready, sir. Hermione, you brought the runes?" He knew it was a stupid question, and of course, she had them out of her satchel by the bed and was placing them around him quickly, murmuring gently over each to activate it. As she placed the last, she looked at him one more time before activating it.

"I want your best, strongest cuddle tonight, when this is done."

Harry blinked, surprised by what seemed an entirely uncharacteristically _fluffy_ question, but appreciating the warmth and tender care he knew she was trying her best to convey, just smiled and nodded back at her.

"Of course, is nine in the common room too soon?" She smiled back at him slightly at that.

"I'll be waiting." With that, she activated the keystone rune, and the barrier shimmered into pale and transparent life around his bed. With a last, terrified glance, Hermione rushed over to Dumbledore, and Slughorn followed after quickly, seemingly not having anything to say, which was a _big_ change, and not a pleasant one. Giving them a final nod and smile, they turned and left, Dumbledore's face pale and drawn as he turned and shut the doors to the wing, and Harry felt, rather than heard, his headmaster wish him luck.

 _I'll need it for sure._

Holding up the vial before him, he studied the purple, still simmering contents. It smelt sickly sweet, but not as foul as he'd thought, given some of the exotic herbs and magical extracts within it. He swirled the vial slowly, watching the potion move, and braced himself, knowing for sure that, like everything else he ever did, this was sure to hurt. With a deep breath, he drank.

 **\- Moments that define us -**

Harry was surprised. Not only did the potion taste reasonably sweet, it didn't hurt at all. He began to worry about that, wondering if it was even working at all, or if the pain might suddenly hit him all at once, crippling and blinding. Instead, he gradually felt a very, very warm feeling spread through him. It was like the feeling of drinking a warm coffee on a cold morning, or dipping into a pleasant bath. It encased him and he began to feel, to his immense surprise, almost elated.

After a few minutes however, things really started to become strange. He felt as though the room around him were shifting, unusual and indescribable shapes and shadows flickering through it, too fast for him to see. This didn't disturb him though, as the relaxing feeling surrounded him completely. Then, he closed his eyes, succumbing to the feeling of comfort and calm and almost immediately, felt his consciousness rush deep into his own mind, much as it had during his painful possessions. There was no pain this time though, only that strange, peaceful calm, and he felt more confused than anything else.

 _Was this the right potion? This feels more like Slughorn Firewhiskey than anything..._

He knew he was conscious, his mind was clear, but he also knew, could _feel_ the potion commanding him, that he had to remain focused on the positivity that almost glowed within him. It was then that he first realised he had lost control of his body.

 _No, it's different than that. It's like I don't need it at all...I'm not dead, am I?!_

Again, that soft command to calm, and he stopped panicking before he even started. But _something_ was happening to him. Then, he came to a simple, calm realisation.

 _This is my soul, or, this is me? But I'm not dead, so how does that work?_

As the thought crossed over his consciousness the answering calm of the potion, which seemed to have taken on a kind of conscious presence in his mind, urged him not to concern himself with that, and Harry, who had resisted even the strongest Imperius, felt completely relaxed in obeying that. Then, something changed. The warmth shifted in intensity, becoming hotter; it transitioned from calming flame to burning bright as a blazing fire, then became hotter still, scorching him, but without pain or discomfort.

 _The purging...is this it?_

An answer came, but not the potion this time. Instead, before him, or inside him, or _wherever_ he was, he felt rather than saw the other soul, the intruder, the _violator_ , forced by the heat to take form. It was Riddle's soul, no doubt, the choking, putrid presence would have made him retch, if not for the continuing soothing of the potion's voice in his mind. He realised now, more than any time, was the moment to bring his mental shields to bear, and he erected a visible wall of bright gold before himself, through which the soul of Riddle was still visible. Finally, it noticed him.

 _Boy._

He felt it speak, though no words reached his hearing, and felt a chill for the first time as the cold, furious eyes glittered with malice and displeasure.

 _What do you think you're doing? We are inseparable, surely you know that much? Why waste my time with this...wait, what have you done, what is this sensation...?_

The image of Riddle flickered, like static on a TV screen was the best comparison Harry could think of, and he saw real fury light the pale, handsome features, eyes locked on his own. Then, Riddle screamed. Harry was confused, he didn't know what was going on, could see nothing happening to Riddle, but he was clearly enduring a terrible agony. Harry felt no guilt in realising he relished the sight.

 _About time you suffered for a change._

It was the wrong thing to say, or think, and Riddle, face contorted, turned his eyes back on Harry, eyes blazing red in fury, and reached out a hand, which had become like a talon, grey and rotted, clashing it against the shields Harry had constructed.

 _Oh no, that's bad_.

The shield held up, but Riddle was putting everything he could into taking it down.

 _You will pay for this boy, COME HERE!_

Harry stayed right where he was, ignoring the massive _pull_ of command Riddle exerted towards him, clearly straining his entire being to overpower Harry's own, and failing. It was at that moment it became clear to him what Dumbledore had said so often this year. A soul, mutilated and fractured, can never stand up to one whole and pure. Then, as that thought filled him with confidence, the potion struck. A tendril of purple span a kind of web around Riddle's soul, encasing it and tightening around it. Riddle's yells of fury and fear abruptly ceased, though he was clearly still fighting ferociously, eyes still burning into Harry's own, a weakening command to _obey_ still emanating from him.

 _Banish him, now._

The potion spoke in his mind again and Harry, without even needing to ask how, simply visualised plucking Riddle up and hurling him away from himself. Hurling him from his body, his soul, his _life_. To his complete shock and surprise Riddle simply vanished, and before he could do more than exult at the sight his eyes flew open, and he knew something was wrong.

Above his bed, straining against the boundaries of the rune wall, the shadow of Riddle's soul screamed soundless fury, as it had so long ago in the chamber, in final defeat. Yet, something was wrong. Riddle didn't vanish, he didn't go anywhere, instead, the black mass simply ceased movement and fixed what he assumed was a stare at him, lying beneath it. He had never felt so vulnerable in his life as he faced that venomous presence, all the more terrifying for the total silence that hid the terrible, fiery rage within.

"Get out! You're done Riddle!" Harry shouted at it, in vain hope he could simply push away the soul again, but it didn't react at all, simply watching him. Then, he felt the words it spoke, though no sound passed between them.

 _We will see about that, boy._

Without a single word more the darkness simply vanished, and Harry knew it was gone, really gone. The room stilled and he felt calm descend upon it, though he had no idea what had happened. Shakily, not daring to move at first for fear it was a trick, he leaned over his bed and removed a runestone, breaking the pattern and bringing the shield down. Still nothing. Was he safe?

As he slowly rose, and moved to the door of the hospital wing, wand in hand, he felt surer that, whatever had happened, he was at least safe. Wherever Riddle had gone, he clearly wasn't here.

 _He's gone._

Finally, the realisation hit him, crashed over him, and he felt so many things, so quickly. Relief, happiness, freedom, safety; it all washed over him in a wave of emotion, and he could barely stand as he finally, truly accepted that it was really _done_. It hadn't even been that painful. He would be indebted to Padma and her family for the rest of his life, and he meant to repay that, one day.

He opened the doors to the wing, and before he could blink a tearful and relieved Hermione threw herself into his arms, and instead of a strong cuddle, he held her so tightly he could hardly tell where he ended and she began. It was a wonderful feeling, not least because he knew it was an embrace for just the _two_ of them, no invading spectator to sneer silently from his mind, to whisper doubts and sow the seeds of insecurity and fear in his hopes for the future. A pair of clearly jubilant professors soon brought him into their own embraces after he released Hermione, though much briefer and less intense. As he broke away and smiled at them all, he couldn't stop that one, nagging thought that remained within him, like a tic buried in his mind.

 _It's gone, but not destroyed. Tom has just gotten that bit stronger._

Still, even as he knew that was true, he also knew it didn't matter one bit. That was a battle for another day, and they would face it then. For now, they had succeeded, and he would enjoy his freedom to the fullest. He would find Padma, he would swear to stand by her and her family in the struggle ahead, and he knew that all his friends would be beside him. But first, the most important thing of all.

"Now then, Hermione, I believe I was promised a cuddle?"


	17. Chapter 17: An old man's advice

"Refill, lad?"

Harry shook his head with a smile at the bottle of wine, yes, plain old wine, that Slughorn offered him. He had had quite enough already, enough to have begun dropping back into calling his potions master 'Horace' again as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

"I'm good Horace, thanks."

"Hermione?" Evidently anticipating the request, Hermione shook her head, but it was with a little amusement Harry noted she shook her head a little more emphatically, and for slightly longer, than was necessary or dignified.

 _Somebody has a nasty headache coming tomorrow._

Horace settled back down into his armchair across from the two of them, eyes glinting at Harry, no doubt in no small part because Hermione had, as their latest fireside chat wore on, become steadily more tipsy, and had abandoned her own chair to attempt to curl, Crookshanks-style, into Harry's lap. Given the armchair barely seated one, it was not exactly comfortable, even if he was happy for the proximity.

 _Speaking of, haven't seen that demonic kneazle for a while, wonder if he's on holiday?_

It had been a sign of the times that Crookshanks had, since Christmas, chosen to be indifferent to Harry rather than outright hostile, though his claws did still seem to flick out dangerously whenever he and Hermione cuddled up on the couch in the common room. He supposed he ought to count his blessings, but that bloody cat was a patient one, and he still feared a possible attack in the night. As it was now though, he assumed Crookshanks was too busy pursuing rats in the dungeons to bother coming to Horace's office to attack him, so that was one less potential lethal enemy on the list.

Realising he had been staring blankly at the back of Hermione's head as he mused, he shook himself slightly, which caused Hermione to flail her arms in surprise, very nearly toppling both of them off the chair.

"Gah, watch it Hermione!" That right arm of hers had come dangerously close to giving him a serious injury, and not in an area he was accustomed to.

"M'sorry, didn't see you...there." She seemed half asleep already, so Harry decided, with a grumble, to hoist them both out of the comfortable chair, and set her back down on Horace's couch.

"Good idea, clearly not one for drink, that girl of yours, eh?" Harry turned and met Horace's mirthful expression with one of extreme displeasure, but chose silence as the best response, and settled himself back in his own chair. Picking up his now empty glass he began rubbing the rim in a smooth, circular pattern, thinking of nothing in particular.

"You know lad, while I enjoy Hermione's company just as much as yours, it's fortunate the wine has gone to her head. You and I are due a chat or three, I would say."

Harry looked up, a little surprised to hear Horace speak, and replied blankly.

"Are we, Horace?" His potions master and friend gave a slow nod, his features changing into a frown of thoughtfulness. Never a good sign, he had learned, but knowing better than to try and distract Horace, Harry awaited whatever was coming.

"Yes...I set to thinking, after our success the other night, about our mutual adversary." Horace didn't meet Harry's now alert eyes, choosing to focus instead on a thread hanging from his green silk robes, fiddling with it as he considered his next words. With a small sigh, Horace set down his glass and clasped his hands together, leaning forward and looking directly at Harry, all sign of inebriation vanishing instantly. Harry quickly perked up, curious.

"Thinking about Riddle, Horace? But, why exactly, what about?" Harry struggled to keep the interest and eagerness out of his voice. Horace rarely spoke of Riddle, and usually only briefly, but he was evidently gearing up for quite the discussion, and had Harry's undivided attention now.

"Well," Horace sighed, hands fidgeting a little, "Since you seem so set on fighting each other, and since I now know, well, have known ever since I met you, which of you I want to see triumphant, it would seem an enormous oversight if I didn't tell you what I can about the man you are set to face."

Harry said nothing, making quite clear in his rapt attentiveness his eagerness for Horace to continue. Horace gazed at Harry's face for a few moments, clearly weighing something up in his mind, before nodding to himself and continuing on.

"I knew Tom Riddle very well, Harry, very well indeed. The moment he entered this school, much like I did when I first met you, I had him marked as one to watch. I have an eye for these things, my lad, but in Riddle's case, anyone could see he had potential. After all, what muggle raised first year, barely having left Ollivander's shop with his new wand in hand and an eager shine in his eyes, could claim to have forced his boat not just to speed past those of the other students, but to _fly_ over their heads, speeding him to the shore, and the school?"

Harry, by now knowing enough about Riddle not to be all that surprised by his abilities, was nonetheless a _little_ sceptical.

"Was that ever proved, Horace?" The professor nodded, quite emphatically.

"Didn't even need to be, lad, I witnessed it myself. Back then, it was customary for all teachers to meet the new arrivals, not just the deputy head, and I can tell you, none of us had ever seen anything like it. Not just the raw display of _power_ but of _control_. A first year making a fire grow from nothing, or a hated toy explode is not uncommon, but to not just levitate a boat _and_ a passenger, but to then send it to a specific destination, and land it perfectly? That takes talent, lad, extraordinary talent. Oh yes, I knew this was one I _had_ to have in my little club."

Horace paused, taking a sip of wine and swirling the contents of the glass slightly, idly watching them flow as he spoke again.

"That sort of shock became commonplace with young Tom. He was famous for his abilities before the week was out, and renowned even in the ministry by the end of his second year for his work on a number of pieces of coursework that turned into independent research, leading to a number of small, but significant breakthroughs. Nothing earth shattering, but for a second year, beyond all possible expectations."

He drank again, and Harry waited for him to continue, stunned to hear, first hand, just what kind of wizard he was facing. In fact, he wasn't even sure Dumbledore could boast of those sorts of abilities. Truth be told though, he knew nothing of Dumbledore's school years, so who could say?

"Of course, as you know, he then a year or two later, I forget now exactly when it was off hand, caught the supposed heir of Slytherin, provided proof of his harbouring a dangerous Acromantula, and gained recognition further still. By this time, he was already part of my club, and I couldn't believe my good fortune."

At this, Horace's eyes met Harry's again, and he spoke softly but firmly as he went on.

"But it wasn't just fortunate that I had such a gifted wizard in my social circle, Harry. He was, well, you'll hate to hear it but he _seemed_ in his outward appearance to be the sort of wizard you are _inside_. He was, it seemed, conscientious, attentive, willing always to listen, and always eager to learn. He carefully cultivated a group of 'friends', as he called them, who hung on to his every word like they were the divine mandate of heaven. Beyond all that though, for me he was the student I could always rely on. He'd bring me ingredients even I could not source, books and research I could scarcely hope to access, all through the connections he had built in the ministry, or to be more precise as it now seems, by manipulating the most awestruck of the ministry's employees, who were only too happy to help out a student who seemed sure to be minister one day."

Horace paused, a small, wry smile on his face, though it didn't reach his eyes, as he mused on that point.

"I suppose, in many ways, he manipulated me in precisely the same way. I fully expected him to have meteoric success, and I must confess it to you lad, I was desperate for his respect, for his _reliance_ on me. And that made my biggest mistake, in the end, in many ways inevitable."

Horace sighed, a look of enormous regret settling on his face and Harry reached across, giving his best effort at reassurance by squeezing the shoulder of his friend gently, showing through touch that he had already forgiven that mistake; that, in truth, there was nothing to forgive. As Dumbledore himself once said, older and wiser wizards had been hoodwinked by Voldemort. Horace was, for all his skills, still only human, and as Harry had discovered, craved the companionship of the talented as much for their actual company as their talents or future success. Riddle must have seemed an unimaginable prize, handed to him on a platter. After a few moments Horace raised his head, gave Harry a slight smile and paternal pat on the arm, and Harry released him, waiting.

"Thank you, lad, it means a great deal to an old fool, it really does." Horace sighed, and shook himself. "So, where was I? Ah yes, well, you already know my mistake, and if I'm truthful, I already realised I had been had the moment Tom asked me about horcruxes. I excused it at the time so that I could answer him, could gain his respect yet again, but in truth I knew, deep down, that no light wizard ever asks how to _create_ a horcrux, not without a very good excuse indeed."

Horace sighed yet again and leaned back into his armchair, eyes fixed on the ornate painting of the centaur opposite, watching it canter through the scenery, chasing a female.

"Still, all these things, though you didn't know them, don't really tell you anything new, right lad?" Harry thought for a few moments, wishing Hermione was awake to back up his conclusion, but he nodded anyway. He already knew Riddle was powerful, a master manipulator, charismatic and a devourer of knowledge. All this was well known to anyone, really.

"Yes, well, there are hidden in between the lines, if you like, some traits of his you can see that could well bring his end about faster if you play your cards right, Harry." Harry raised an eyebrow, really not seeing it, and Horace smiled, clearly not surprised.

"Well, consider this for a start, Harry. Tom is determined, above all else, to obtain power. To do that, he will pursue it wherever he thinks he can find it. He once thought horcruxes would grant him power, of a kind, over death, but it seems if Albus is right, that he has realised his error. I have no doubt that the restoration of some of his physical features that Albus and Draco have witnessed is a sure sign: Tom is restoring his horcruxes into his own soul, though the how eludes me."

Horace stopped speaking, brows furrowed at the thought, and Harry too was thoughtful, and more than a little worried. As the Patil library and Dumbledore would tell it, only remorse could truly restore a soul, yet Riddle, it seemed, had found a way, and he sure as hell wasn't feeling sorry for _anything_.

"Horace?" Harry spoke, still thinking, and Horace looked at him expectantly. "Professor Dumbledore mentioned to me, well, did he tell you what else he saw at Malfoy Manor?" Horace shook his head, curiosity evidently piqued and Harry pressed on, a little surprised Dumbledore hadn't told him, but sure he wouldn't mind Horace knowing.

"He said something about a dementor. I know there were meant to be some in the woods, but they should all have been distracted by the ministry aurors, right? Why was there one on the roof, and alone?"

Horace sat up a little straighter, thinking on this, and then stood, pacing softly before the blazing hearth, clearly thinking frantically. He finally stopped pacing and fixed Harry with a beady eye, clearly still thinking.

"Hm, Harry, how much about the nature of horcruxes did you find out from the Patil archive?" Harry thought for a few moments, but realised they hadn't really mentioned all that much _how_ the cursed things worked, only how to counter or destroy them.

"Nothing Professor Dumbledore didn't already know."

"Hmm. Well, I had never mentioned it to Albus, perhaps that was a mistake, but it was just a rumour, really. Unsubstantiated, you understand? Nothing concrete." Horace was rambling, he often did that when he felt guilty and Harry, eager to come to the point, simply nodded his head, making clear in his eyes he was inviting Horace to go on.

"Well, and bear in mind it's only rumour, one I heard long ago on a trip to Germany." Horace stopped pacing, standing with his back to the hearth, gazing at the room around him as he reminisced."It was told to me by a dear friend, since dead, sadly, in Saxony that there were druidic circles in the times of the old imperium, who had made use of horcrux magic for the purposes of preserving their knowledge. Essentially, they would create a horcrux, and use that to sustain their lives, allowing them to preserve their magic and their rituals for generations, without risk of losing them when an elder died. Of course, eventually the written word arrived, and the practice fell into disuse, but it still went on until Christianity brought an end to pagan rule."

Harry, while finding this interesting, really just wanted Horace to come to the point. He certainly loved to spin a tale. Horace clearly sensed this, and quickly stopped rambling.

"At any rate, one of the rituals was, allegedly, a _reversal_ ritual. Literally, to undo the horcrux, return it to the host. The purpose was to allow a final death, once a new generation of elders was established. Nobody, Tom may be the rare exception, ever lives more than a few centuries before this world wears on them, I'm afraid. Supposedly, the ritual restored the link between the fractured soul and the whole, allowing that final death to occur."

Horace sat back in his armchair, frowning to himself, and Harry leaned forward.

"So you think that's what he's done, sir, I mean- Horace? He found the ritual?"

"Perhaps..." Horace rubbed at his chin, evidently unsure, and Harry didn't see the problem; wasn't this their answer? But then...

"But even if he _did_ find that ritual, does it really make him stronger, is it even permanent?"

Horace eyed him again, smiling slightly.

"Both are good questions my boy, and ones we may be better asking Albus, maybe Severus too, given his expertise and knowledge of the dark lord. But another one strikes me: If, and this is a big if, lad, Tom can also now become a Dementor, that doesn't fit the ritual I heard of _at all_. No mention was ever made of it in the admittedly scant written records I was shown, and having myself no intention to ever create something as vile as a horcrux, I never sought more clarity. So, the question is, if Tom has adopted the powers of a dementor, what does that mean his soul now becomes? Will he, as they do, hunger for more once he has his horcruxes back?"

Harry shuddered at the thought, and didn't look forward at all to asking Hermione and Dumbledore these questions, and looked at his girlfriends' silent, now sleeping form with sadness that she'd ever gotten involved in something as dark as this. Still, he focused, bringing his eyes back to Horace, choosing to ask a new question since the speculation was getting them nowhere.

"Are you going to tell the headmaster about this, Horace?" Harry, to his surprise, saw a small smirk lift the edges of Horace's mouth as he asked this, and he could see the response without even hearing it.

"I have no intention of hiding this, feel free to pass it on, we can even discuss it together tomorrow. I'm only sorry I didn't think to consider the possibility until now. But before you go running off, there's one other thing about Tom's character I can tell you."

Harry, who had been making to rise from his chair, sat back down again, curious. Horace watched him for a moment and, satisfied Harry wasn't going anywhere, continued.

"He's insecure, Harry. Enormously insecure. Even in his moments of true excellence, even when he had me fooled, I could see it, plain as day: he fears the judgement of others, fears their rejection, and that they might see him as anything less than brilliant. I don't pretend to understand why that is, but I _know_ it, as I know him. If you want to distract Tom, want to throw him off balance, and don't mind risking your life in doing it, treating him with contempt, dismissing him out of hand, is a tried and true way to throw him off his game, make him behave erratically and irrationally. He's a master of scheming Harry, but even the best scheme can fail if the schemer fails to follow it through as planned."

Harry chewed this thought over. Truthfully, he didn't see clearly _how_ he could use these pieces of insight into Tom's character, but in honesty, he was grateful to Horace anyway. Not just for the tips, but because he knew as well as anyone just how hard it is to admit when you've been had, when you've been fooled, and Horace, for all his brilliance, had been played to perfection.

 _Not the first, not the last._

Still, Harry rose now, eager to meet Dumbledore, and bring their new lead to the headmaster's attention. Thanking Horace profusely, and with a gentle kiss on Hermione's cheek, promising in her ear he'd collect her in the morning and bring a good hangover draught, he made his way out of the office. To Dumbledore, and, hopefully, to finally form a plan of action for how to deal with Tom permanently.

 **-** **Moments that define us -**

Horace Slughorn was tired, so _very_ tired. His life, long and illustrious as it had been had, it seemed, all been for very little in the end. Certainly, he was now taking steps, measurable, concrete steps, to undo the greatest mistake of his life, to aid the greatest wizard he'd ever known and up and coming greats in the form of young Harry and his lovely lady friend. He smiled as he turned from the hearth he'd been once again staring into, observing her slender form curled up just as Harry had left her. He slipped a few of his warmest robes from the wardrobe and laid them across her, leaving, thoughtfully, a small, marked vial of hangover draught beside her, for when she awoke.

He rose to his feet, moving into his chambers just off the main office, closing the door gently behind him before settling down into his chair at the desk. He shuffled a few papers idly, but his thoughts still burned within him. His guilt, his shame, and his newfound hope of redemption. As he reflected on these things he reached over to his desk, opening one of many secret compartments embedded in the frame, and pulled from it a small green locket with a clear, bold 'S' emblazoned on the smooth surface.

 _Now, this was good fortune, and then some_.

His courting of the petty thief Mundungus Fletcher had borne fruit, beyond anything he'd expected. When he'd sought out Slytherin artefacts from the black market, he had barely even dared hope anything of note would come from it, but Albus' words had rung in his mind ever since their first meeting after Albus had viewed Horace's true memory, so recently given to young Harry.

" _He's sure to have used an important artefact for one or more of his horcruxes, Horace. You've always had eyes in places others don't look, and, ah, contacts with men other men avoid. Not to make insinuations about your character, my friend, but we need those contacts. I have a strong suspicion that one of Tom's horcruxes will be a Slytherin heirloom, and to my knowledge, only the locket his maternal family once owned would fit that description. I know the chances of thieves and vagabonds finding anything is slim, but we need to check under every rock, you understand..."_

He'd understood well enough, and given the memory of his shame was so fresh at that meeting, he hadn't even batted an eye at the _insinuations_ about his character; they were, after all, quite true. Still, it _had_ borne fruit, and only a few weeks earlier, for no small sum he might add, he had acquired the locket.

Turning it in his fingers, Horace Slughorn felt the pulsing magic, that ever-clear signature of Tom. This was a horcrux alright, and Horace knew to avoid prolonged contact with it, beyond confirming it hadn't been stolen from his desk each night. He ought to have brought it to Albus, or destroyed it himself, but an idea lingered in his mind. A vague hope, but a real one, a way to redeem himself.

He had spoken the truth to young Harry, completely. Tom was vain, he was arrogant, he was desperate for power and recognition and, clearly, finding his own horcruxes was now top of the list of desperate desires for the so-called heir of Slytherin.

But still, Horace couldn't destroy it because now he had a vague plan, a way to help, really help, destroy Tom once and for all. If Albus had it right, and it seemed likely, Tom had by now reunited with all his horcruxes, likely including the one formerly in young Harry. This locket was the last. Tom would be desperate to have it, his mind would be tortured by its loss, and tormented by his desire to return it to the fold.

 _And I know Tom, know how to work him, as he once knew how to work me._

He knew it was insane, probably useless, and might only make Tom stronger still, but the idea wouldn't leave him.

 _I will be the lure, and the locket the prize. I can force Tom off his game, make him lose the initiative. I can bring him to -me-, on my terms, and then, just perhaps, Harry and Albus and all the others would have a chance, then and there, to end this, finally._

But it was a terrible risk. He couldn't tell Harry his plan; he would refuse outright to consider it, and his chance would be lost. He would convince Albus though, then, he would need to arrange to meet Tom. As quickly as was possible, give him no time to plan, no time to calm from his initial rage and see the possible tripwires of the trap Horace would lay. He would contact Tom, would send him a Patronus and bring him to a location that same day. Then, Tom would be in the open, exposed, _vulnerable_ and, most importantly, not thinking straight.

 _The only problem is where to lure him to_.

He sighed, placing the horcrux back into the desk and choosing to think this over more fully in the morning. It would give him time to plan, make preparations but most importantly of all, to decide if he was, for a change, truly brave. Brave enough to fight, brave enough to risk everything. But as he stood to change and enter into his bed, a simple, pure thought, gave him all the inspiration he needed.

 _I will do it. Not for me, or for revenge against Tom, but for Harry, for Hermione, for Albus and all those who matter to me._

He knew as he thought it that no other reason was needed; that no other reason _mattered_.

 _After all, it's what sweet Lily would have done_.

Mind filled with memories of his once brightest pupil, he fell into a deep, sad sleep.


	18. Chapter 18: Known without telling

" _Take time out, Harry, don't forget your friends."_

Professor Dumbledore's words rang in Harry's ears as he made his way from the common room to meet his friends in a disused classroom on the second floor. Passing through the halls lit by the brightening rays of a crisp spring morning he felt that, despite his earlier protests, perhaps his headmaster and mentor was right. He _had_ neglected his friends, for months now, ever since Christmas.

 _It's not like I did it intentionally, I've been so distracted!_

He knew that was only an excuse though. Truthfully, he had chosen to isolate himself to a large extent, and though Hermione had refused to let him draw away, the others had maintained what they clearly felt was a safe distance, knowing all too well his habit of withdrawal, and that little could bring him out once he'd entered his shell.

He just felt so powerless of late, and now, with the increasing threat posed by Riddle, the warnings of his headmaster and friend weighed heavily on his mind and spirit. True, he was free of the horcrux, and that had been an immense relief, but still, he was set on a path that held little chance of success, and that was demoralising all in itself.

 _Then Dumbledore barely escaped that duel_.

That had truly shaken him, more than he could have ever anticipated it would. It had seemed impossible that such a formidable man could be so suddenly and near-fatally outgunned, and yet, it had almost happened. Riddle had changed, that much was clear, and that uncertainty coupled with his own fears and anxieties had served to leave Harry unable to really face anything, even Hermione, at times. Then, his headmaster had invited him for an 'informal chat' the previous evening, and made it clear in no uncertain terms that, as it was, there was little Harry personally could do but continue preparing himself for what lay ahead. They could scarcely attack Riddle, and with his dementors now largely dispersed by the ministry attack at the manor, the immediate danger of mass attacks seemed to have faded.

 _Doesn't change the fact he's got a new trick up his sleeve._

Still, he couldn't brood on these thoughts, not today. He'd promised he'd be his old self for today, just as Dumbledore suggested, and he had no intention of letting Hermione and Ron down. It was, therefore, a surprised Harry who arrived at the supposed to be nearly empty classroom to find not just Hermione and Ron but Padma, Susan and Draco idly chatting in there too. It only took a moment for surprise to make way for happiness as he took a second to survey them all. Ron, as usual, seemed to be doing his best to wind Hermione up, and judging by the way Crookshanks was glaring at Ron as he prowled the room, Ron was clearly succeeding.

 _More the fool you, mate. Keeps the claws away from my unmentionables, at least._

Across at the teacher's desk Draco, as is to be expected, Harry thought, was sat in the prime spot, with Susan beside him, clearly enthralled by whatever tale he was spinning. There was a time such a sight would have made Harry two parts suspicious to one part angry, but now he couldn't help but smirk a bit to see the once leader of Slytherin having a very good time with a Hufflepuff. It was a good natured smirk though, the one a friend gives to another, born more of amusement mixed with the promise of teases to come, than anything malicious. Padma, Harry noted, was listening to them, but seemingly more interested in leafing through a schoolbook than actively engaging in conversation.

He moved into the room and made a beeline for Hermione and Ron, taking his usual seat between them, and more than a little pleased by the peck on his cheek he received, which of course came from Hermione.

 _Would be a little strange if it didn't, frankly._

"Hey guys, what's up?" He settled into his seat as he spoke, smiling widely at Hermione, but it was Ron who spoke first.

"Mate, you need to do something about that bloody cat of hers." Ron sounded like he'd been ranting on the subject for some time, if the relief at Harry's presence was anything to go by. He chose not to voice his unspoken feelings of agreement with the sentiment, and not least because said Kneazle was now glaring directly at him, with eyes that clearly said: "I know _exactly_ what you're thinking, just try it, boy." Deciding he had enough on his plate with Riddle, he chose to deflect the conversation.

"Hey, you're the Quidditch star, you can handle Crookshanks fine yourself. Am I right in hearing from Ginny you saved three shots in a row last match?" Ron's ears burned a little at Harry's implied praise, and with a sense of drawing himself up, spoke heartily and proudly.

"Yep, just call me the golden boy from hereon out. You need a new title, mate. You also need to get back on the team." Harry tried not to laugh at the over the top effort Ron was making not to look pleased with himself, which failed miserably as usual, and dodged the rebuke about Quidditch. He simply didn't have time for it anymore. However, as he was thinking he lost the chance to reply as Hermione cut in.

"Really Ron, you need to keep your mind on the game, not on the opinions of your classmates. _Especially_ not the girl classmates." Hermione spoke with considerably huffy overtones, and Harry raised an eyebrow at her in question before Ron grabbed his shoulder, pulling him closer and muttering in his ear.

"Ignore her mate, it was just a bit of fun, that's all."

Harry scarcely had time to reply before his _other_ shoulder was grabbed with equal force, and he was yanked to Hermione's side this time, who muttered with even greater vigour.

"A 'bit of fun' is a line that usually ends before you get to the 'sneaking into the girl's dormitory' point of the scale."

Harry, anticipating the incoming yank back to Ron pulled himself away from both of them with a frown, rubbing his now aching shoulders.

"Rather than tear me in half, does someone mind explaining this to me? I've not exactly been in the loop of the rumour mill, you know."

Hermione looked momentarily a little sad, but quickly shook it off and went right back to furiously muttering in his ear, though mercifully she leaned into him, rather than tearing his arm off this time.

"He's been _dating_ Harry. He and Lavender have gotten _very_ close lately. _Improperly_ close, even, if the way she was rubbing against him like a cat was any indication."

 _Wouldn't know what that's like, would we Hermione?_

Choosing not to voice that potentially life-threatening thought, Harry instead turned to Ron, a small smile on his face as he asked with a look for confirmation. Ron, tellingly, simply looked away, blushing furiously, and that was all the confirmation he needed.

"Congrats, mate. Need a best man?" He clapped Ron on the shoulder in his best imitation of comradeship, and Ron, still red in the face as well as the hair, simply glared at him, evidently not impressed by the effort at humour.

"Like hell, it's nothing like as bad as _she_ is making out. She's dramatic, Harry, don't know how it doesn't drive you mad. Besides, if I rubbed against Hermione like _her_ bloody cat Lavender would be in the hospital wing 24/7!" Ron's reward as he finished was a well aimed smack to the back of the head from Hermione, closely followed by a lighter one from Harry, and a well aimed scratch to the leg by Crookshanks. Ron shunted himself away from the desk to escape, grumbling in pain.

"Watch it! I'm telling you, Harry, that cat is a menace. How does it not terrify you to share a room with that demon?" Ron quickly stopped, as Crookshanks looked _murderous_ , almost as much as Hermione did.

"Who says it doesn't?" Harry replied, truly throwing caution to the wind, before promptly receiving a hard thump to the back of his own head and his very own scratch to the leg, which did little to stifle his laughter, though it did make him yelp. Hermione really was easy to wind up sometimes, but it was one of the things he loved the most.

 _Shame about the ruddy cat._

"Oi, will you three dunces keep it down or I'll put you in the corner." Draco's amused drawl slid smoothly across the room to them and Hermione simply huffed, giving Harry a good elbow to the ribs before folding her arms and turning away, feigning anger. Ron simply seemed relieved the questions were over and went back to glaring at Crookshanks, handily diverting the Kneazle's attention from Harry.

"Sorry, Lord Malfoy, I'll keep the cane handy just in case." Harry responded smoothly, snapping off a salute.

"Like I'd need to use such a primitive weapon." Draco drawled back before standing, swiftly followed by Susan and belatedly by Padma, before the three of them came over to sit with the trio. Susan smiled brightly at Harry, who returned it in kind, and Padma smiled too, if a little less brightly. All of them though, Draco included, seemed happy to see him, and that realisation warmed Harry immensely. It was a wonderful feeling, and he only now noticed how much he'd missed these simple moments. He vowed not to forget them so easily in the future.

"Yeah, well, that aside, how are you doing Draco?" Harry gave a light smile as Draco sat opposite him, with Susan and Padma on either side. In some ways they were becoming their own trio, although Padma was pretty hard to place within it, seeming more like she was simply doing her own thing.

"Not too bad, Harry. Mum's up and about again, should be out of the hospital wing by the end of the week if Pomfrey has it right." Draco spoke smoothly, but his eyes showed the relief he was feeling and Harry was delighted Narcissa would be up and about so soon. He knew nothing about her, but if Draco cared for her so much she clearly must be very different from his once idolised father. That put her in Harry's good books, as far as he was concerned.

"Glad to hear it, I hope I can meet her soon. How about you Susan, Padma? All's well?"

"Very well Harry, thanks. I'd been really worried for Draco's mum too, but she really does seem to be fine, and she's a lovely woman." Susan's voice was light, but betrayed the worry that had clearly been inside her ever since Narcissa had arrived. Harry couldn't help but note the fact Susan was, very gently, holding Draco's arm in her own as they sat. It pleased him though, hugely, and he smiled brightly at her before turning to Padma with a questioning glance.

"I'm fine, Harry. I do wish you'd keep us more up to date on what's going on though. We volunteered to help you, not to be ignored for our 'safety'."

 _Yikes, talk about direct._

It was a straight to the point answer, and Harry couldn't deny it was a point probably all of them with the exception of Hermione would want to raise with him. Their expressions, even Ron's, reflected the mixture of exasperation and worry that Padma's well-schooled neutral tone nonetheless failed to hide completely. Knowing Padma was well reputed for her poker face Harry smiled at her gently, trying to communicate to her unspoken concerns his reassurances, and judging by the slight softening of her expression, they had been received.

"Yeah, you're right, I shouldn't have stayed away from you all so long. I just...Look, things were dangerous before, but they're even more dangerous now. I just hate the idea of encouraging you to endanger yourselves, especially for me."

Padma observed him for a moment, smile fading, before speaking quite crisply and coolly.

"We, or at least, I, don't risk anything solely for you, though that's not to say you're not part of the reason I want to fight. I already told you, I want to fight because it's in my interests to do so, to protect my family. Indian families with a habit of fighting the dark arts are not on the dark lord's list of friends, I can promise you that. He will come to us, even if we choose not to act."

Harry chewed that one over a moment, trying to find a way to respond, to assure her she needn't risk anything, but was stopped when Susan chimed in.

"And don't forget Harry, you're not the only orphan here." She spoke softly, but he could see as he met her eyes the same awful loneliness and loss his own heart felt, and he reached over to grip one of her hands softly, even as Draco tightened his grip on the other. Susan smiled at them both after a moment and Harry moved back, leaving Draco to fill the role of comfort.

"I know, Susan, it's just hard. I feel like even if you're all equally as capable and skilled and motivated as me, which you are, it's still ultimately my fault if anything happens to you."

He didn't miss the muttered "hero complex", which came from both Draco and Ron, and he was so stunned to hear them both share a point of view on _anything_ that he couldn't help but smirk at them both as they each stared at each other, irritation plain on their faces.

 _About time they agreed on something._

Still, he knew this was a fight he was never going to win; perhaps one that he _shouldn't_ even win. He knew he couldn't do this alone and he needed support. Here it was, freely offered and with warm smiles, mostly, and demands to take part. He was about to speak again when Draco cut in, his own voice soft, which surprised Harry considerably.

"And in my case I have, in a way, lost a parent too. I've seen my father become a broken, twisted mess, hounded from his own home and publicly shamed for his crimes. I saw my mother beaten and broken for months on end, until I finally took part in rescuing her and came face to face with the destroyer of my family, and yours, and Susan's. Don't assume you're the only one who understands the risks, or the reasons to fight, Harry."

Harry really couldn't say anything to that, and as he reflected on it, he lowered his head to stare at his hands on the desk, fingers brushing over the scars put there the previous year, and remembering just what they had all lost and suffered. What _he_ had lost. He wasn't alone, not just in the sense that people stood by his side, but in the sense that others, like him, had had so much stolen from them by Riddle, so many lives torn apart. It filled him with anger and resolve like nothing else ever did and he raised his eyes again to stare into those of his friends, meeting their firm resolve with his own.

"You're right, it's selfish of me to turn you away like this, especially when all of you have proven so well how ready you are to join the fight. If your offers still stand, it's time I brought you all fully into the loop." He extended a hand, shaking each of theirs in turn, giving each a warm and sincere smile and receiving one in turn, even from Padma.

"That's all we ask Harry, all we'd ever ask. Tell us how we can help, and we will." It was Ron who spoke this time, and the friendly pat on the shoulder spoke volumes for his honesty. Harry returned it, before turning back to face them all.

"Right, then here's how things stand. You know I mentioned horcruxes before? Well, it gets worse..."

 **\- Moments that define us -**

It was an exhausted Harry who collapsed into the couch in the Gryffindor common room that night, swiftly joined by an equally tired Hermione, who didn't even bother pretending to be 'proper' and just buried herself into his side, resting her head on his chest as they, as always, took a moment at the end of the day to relax together. Harry began stroking Hermione's hair in the way she loved, and just allowed his thoughts to drift away, his consciousness filled only with the warmth of the flames in the hearth and the small, tender form of Hermione nestled in his side. It was a misleading image, really, as he knew all too well that beneath her soft exterior Hermione Granger was all iron and fire; strength and resolve. It was one of the many, many qualities that made her so attractive to him.

As he drifted through such thoughts, perhaps fifteen minutes passed before, finally, one of them spoke.

"Harry?"

"Mhm?"

"Thank you, for letting everyone in. I know it's not always easy for you, Merlin knows it isn't for me, either."

Harry smiled at that, knowing _exactly_ what she meant, and lowered the hand on her hair to rest softly on her cheek, gently brushing his thumb against it and enjoying the contact before responding.

"Nothing to thank me for, I should have done it ages ago. Especially when, well, when so many of them have lost as much as I have, as _we_ have."

Hermione raised her head slightly to meet his eyes, her own warm and concerned.

"True, but it doesn't always mean it's easy to open up. So many people are willing to help you though, Harry, and I'm just relieved you're realising that."

Hermione nestled her head back into his chest and for a few moments they said nothing further until she spoke again, softly, facing the hearth as she did so.

"I'm also pleased Draco has changed. It surprised me, but it gives me hope. Reminds me that not everyone we are fighting is a monster. Sometimes people get trapped, have to do things they don't want to, just to survive. I'm glad he met Susan."

"Yeah, he's lucky to have found her, we all are, really. Heart the size of an ocean, that girl, and there's no denying she's a good influence. Reminds me of another girl I know." He smiled as he looked down at Hermione, and though she didn't turn to face him she tightened her grip slightly, indicating she understood the compliment and was grateful for it. After a few moments more, she turned her head back to him. She stared into his eyes for a few moments before pushing herself up, pushing her lips against his, and he simply melted into the feeling, letting the warm haze descend over him, basking in the complete security he felt as they shared the gentle moment together.

"I want you to know, Hermione-" Harry began to speak but she cut him off with another light kiss, hugging him tightly against her until he could scarcely breathe, and he sank back into the warm glow of her affection. After a few more moments, she broke away, if only slightly.

"It's a bit late for confessions Harry. After everything, I think we both understand each other well enough now, don't you agree?" It was spoken in her typical, pragmatic way; all calm and matter-of-fact. He still smiled softly at her, and went on speaking anyway.

"That may be true, but it doesn't change the fact I want you to hear it: I love you, Hermione." It wasn't dramatic nor planned out, and really, it sounded quite _plain_ to say it that way. Yet, as she simply beamed back at him, nuzzling her face into his neck for a moment, he knew it didn't matter. After all, they'd both already realised they felt that way, just as she'd said, a long while ago now, probably even before the events at Christmas. Even so, it warmed his heart and sent tingles through his entire brain and body when she responded, voice warm and tender.

"I love you too, but you already know that."

 _Typical Hermione._

He could only smile, and as they settled back together, falling asleep without even bothering to return to the dorms, he knew that he really, truly did know it. It was a certainty, a sure and solid fact of their relationship, and it was a promise and a pledge that was more precious to Harry than any other fact of his life in that moment. Someone loved him, and not even a single cell of his being doubted it. And he knew, it was exactly the same for her.


	19. Chapter 19: The ambush

"Truly majestic, wonderful." Those had been his first words when he'd originally bought this small country estate with the helpful donations of his old students and friends. Yet, as Horace Slughorn paced anxiously through the rooms of his once favourite summer retreat, the splendor and glory of the ornate staircases, the silver and emerald hallways with their magnificent works of art, the flowing stream on the grounds and the botanical garden from which he sourced so many of his potions ingredients; all these things did nothing to soothe him as they once did.

As a choice of meeting place, he felt it was inspired in many ways. As Albus had also quickly noted, the seclusion of the place would do much to ease the paranoia and mistrust of his soon-to-be _guest_ , but it also provided opportunities in itself. True, the wards were all lowered tonight, as had been demanded by his old student, but the woodlands behind the manor provided the perfect place for Albus, the Order and, of course, young Harry, to wait in anticipation of the ambush to come.

Horace would be lying if he didn't say he was incredibly nervous; it had been so long since he'd seen Tom face to face, and the years had not been kind to either of them, though for differing reasons. He was also nervous on behalf of those waiting to intercept Tom, after all, his old student may have become deranged as of late, but there was little reason to doubt his ability to detect a trap would still be keen.

 _We just have to hope Albus was right, this damned Horcrux better drown out the presence of the others._

As his eyes fell on the locket he was absent-mindedly fiddling with in his fingers he stopped pacing, making his way down to the entrance hall of the house. He'd just felt a small but clear change in the intruder wards. To be more precise, they'd vanished entirely.

 _Well, that can only mean one thing._

Wasting no time he made his was to the sitting room, anticipating, rightly as it turned out, that Tom would not even bother with the courtesy of knocking and begging his leave.

"Where is it, Horace?"

Horace very nearly had a heart attack there and then. He hadn't even felt Tom's presence at all until he materialised with a rush of robes before him. It seemed Tom was in a hurry, and not for playing games.

 _Not surprising, given what I'm holding._

"Here, my lord." Horace replied shakily, gesturing to the locket in his hands as he stood to greet his old student. He detested referring to Tom as anything other than his name, but if he was to have any chance of occupying his attention it would be better not to push his already extremely limited patience. Horace didn't miss the longing that entered Tom's eyes, or that Tom had already located the locket before he'd even spoken. He could feel the horcrux calling out to his old student, and subtly tightened his grip on it, hopefully not noticeably.

"There is no discussion to be had Horace, return that locket to me or, well, I'm sure you can guess well enough the consequences." Tom spoke softly, but the threat was felt clearly, and Horace had to brace himself to avoid shaking as those cold tones chilled him, the aura around his old student strengthening considerably.

"Of course not, my lord, I was simply surprised. It has been a long time since we met, and I must confess I am impressed. I always had you marked for greatness, but you've come further than I could ever have anticipated."

Horace noted Tom's eyes shifted from the locket, briefly, for the first time, and the almost imperceptible shift in the fury in them wasn't missed by him either. He chose therefore, to press his point.

"If you'll forgive my asking, my lord, I had only one request to make in exchange for retrieving this from Albus for you."

Tom's eyes glowed with fury but even so, as Horace quailed at the sight, he had the sense that his old student was giving him a chance, just the one, to spit it out. Being a typically perceptive Slytherin, he pushed on as he realised that.

"I had only wondered how it was you so handily defeated Albus in your last meeting? Of course, you were always exceptionally gifted, far beyond any other, but you must understand, it is still an exceptional feat, my lord."

He'd made the right choice in his approach, and the well-practised tones of just the right amounts of admiration and respect had made a small but clear impact on the icy expression of his old student, whose lip curled, only slightly, as Horace spoke. Deep, deep inside, Horace felt a growing panic however; he didn't have long, Albus and the others better damn well hurry up!

"You are quite right, old friend, it was something beyond even my own exceptional standards. I am not inclined, however, to share much of the how, even with you. You understand, I think, the need for secrecy when you occupy a position like my own?" Tom spoke calmly, the fury in his expression having been replaced for the most part by pride.

 _Hook, line, now the sinker._

"Of course, my lord, I understand that quite well, I would hardly be a good bearer of the standard of Salazar if I failed to understand discretion. Even so, I must confess my curiosity gets the better of me. I have never heard of a dementor being a known form of animagus, I am truly impressed, my lord." Horace watched Tom's face carefully as he spoke, and noted the increasing dominance of the pride over the anger and haste. In fact, Tom was now solely looking at him, ignoring the locket entirely. Not taking any chances, Horace kept it in plain view.

"Ah, if only you understood the full extent of it, Horace. Animagus form? Well, let's just say I already have an animagus form, and it is no dementor, I can assure you of that. What I have achieved is, as ever, far beyond such _imitations_ of form, but rather the form itself. It is an ability that gives me enormous power, as you have no doubt noticed, and as the old fool learned to his cost." Tom was monologuing, and Horace couldn't help giving a very small, very fearful internal chuckle. His old student was brilliant, truly, but his vanity was even greater. However, Tom must have picked up on the change in Horace's disposition, as his eyes quickly snapped back to the horcrux, and Horace knew that Tom had caught himself, recognising his mistake.

"No more of that, though. You have what I want, and I will have it and be gone. Because of our long friendship, I will even allow you to leave unscathed, but you will surrender this estate to me and my _friends_ , and you will submit to the imperius, the better to ensure you don't get, ah, second thoughts." Tom spoke coldly, his eyes lacking any of the feigned warmth the words were meant to carry, and Horace knew he had no time left. If Albus and the others didn't get here soon...

"Of course, I accept that generous offer, but I had wanted to make one of my own, my lord."

Tom's eyes narrowed again, evidently tired of the back and forth, so Horace pressed on quickly before the wand Tom had slipped from his sleeve was used.

"I wish to join the death eaters, my lord. I cannot return to the castle, Albus will surely suspect I stole the locket, and at any rate, I have long regretted not joining you long ago. After all, we are both of the house of your forefather, and we both share the same vision of our world." Horace spoke quickly, injecting reverence and deference carefully in his tone, before bowing before Tom, discreetly secreting the locket into his robes as he knelt, hoping against hope he timed this right as he glanced at the windows.

Tom Riddle had little chance to do more than cock his head in puzzlement at the unexpected offer, before an explosion of magic tore the room apart.

- **Moments that define us -**

"Wand out, boy, and you too, Albus."

Alastor Moody, limping as ever ahead of the others, called back sharply to Albus and Harry, who were following along through the woods, making their way on foot to Horace's estate. Albus looked at Harry briefly, that familiar twinkle lighting his eyes for a moment, before he took out his wand and Harry did the same, their faces quickly shifting into grim, determined expressions.

"Of course, Alastor, our apologies."

Albus spoke calmly, but Harry, walking beside him, felt anything but calm. They were taking an extraordinary risk tonight, and Harry's inside were churning with anxiety for his friend. He had been beyond furious when the headmaster had pulled him aside that evening to inform him the ambush they were part of involved Horace, and he had then been beyond petrified when he found out who it was who was providing the bait. True, he felt proud of Horace, knowing that for him, such an act of courage was unusual, though not unheard of, but he couldn't help feeling angry that he had been kept out of the loop of the plan until it was already in motion.

He supposed he understood the reasons why; he certainly would not have gone along with it had he had any choice before tonight, and he knew they needed to get Riddle as quickly as possible. Even so, he was resentful, and that did not mix well with the fear that gripped him as they approached the manor.

"We'll be there soon. Albus, signal the others to establish the perimeter once the dark lord arrives." Alastor Moody spoke gruffly and Dumbledore simply nodded, sensing the magical eye had swerved to observe him, and kept his wand at the ready. Ordinarily, Harry knew, Dumbledore preferred to take charge in such operations, but he had chosen to defer to his old friend on this occasion since, as he'd told Harry, Alastor's magic was far less _noticeable_ than his own, especially to Tom. As it therefore fell to Alastor to establish the notice-me-not charms, and various other protections around the woods to hide their presence, the headmaster had chosen to defer to Moody in recognition of that fact, though he would of course lead the attack once they sprung their trap.

Harry, meanwhile, remained a churning rush of emotions, which his occlumency was not completely masking. Albus gripped Harry's shoulder gently, and gave him a small smile.

"Focus, Harry, the others will be perfectly safe."

Harry nodded, reinforcing his mental shields and hoping against hope the headmaster was right. Though he'd been reluctant, he'd agreed that the others should join them with the order tonight. So it was that Padma, Susan, Draco, Hermione and Ron, with Kingsley, Arthur, Remus and Kingsley leading their group, were to establish a perimeter tonight. He hadn't wanted to be separated from them, especially not Hermione, and they had protested too, but the headmaster had been quite firm on the point.

" _We need you focused, Harry, exclusively on Tom. If the others are with us when we go in, and especially Hermione, you will be too distracted protecting them to face Tom. I won't take any risks tonight."_

He understood that, he really did, but he wondered if, with the others essentially being kept out of the fight anyway, there was any point bringing them in to danger at all? Still, he knew they may well need backup, even with Dumbledore present, and had agreed, reluctantly, to their presence.

They strode on for a few more minutes, until finally the estate came into view. A few moments after that, the headmaster spoke.

"He's arrived, keep your magic to a minimum and stay quiet." The warning was not necessary as Moody had, at the same time, already thrown the invisibility cloak over Harry, and cast disillusionment charms on himself and Albus. Harry was vaguely amused by the way Alastor seemed to treat Dumbledore like one of his recruits, though he noted the headmaster scarcely seemed to mind, evidently content to let Moody do what he did best.

"Good thing there's so few of us, he's using revelio continuously."

Moody spoke gruffly, and Harry felt real fear begin to fill him, though he quickly squashed it. He was relieved however when the now indistinct form of the headmaster spoke up in agreement.

"Quite a few variants of it, too. Had there been even one more of us so close by, he would have picked us up. I confess, I am surprised he hasn't anyway, but there it is."

"Must be too distracted by the ruddy locket." Moody growled quietly, before creeping forward towards the tree line, Albus and Harry bringing up the rear swiftly. They stopped at the edge of the botanical greenhouses, and Harry wondered vaguely what they were waiting for until the headmaster spoke, near-silently.

"He's inside."

Neither Moody nor Harry asked how Dumbledore knew this, trusting his ability to sense such things, and Moody simply began moving forward carefully, guiding them through the rear of the estate, towards the house itself.

"Where?" Moody spoke gruffly, and after a few moments, the headmaster responded.

"The front, ground floor, must be Horace's sitting room."

Giving a small grunt, Moody led them further forward, then as they reached the wall of the house, and began very slowly moving towards the front, Dumbledore spoke quietly.

"I will take over now Alastor, thank you."

It was a sign of the respect and the professionalism of Alastor Moody that he made no comment or sound of protest, and his indistinct form, shimmering against the side of the house, simply moved back, allowing Dumbledore to take the lead, with Harry just behind him. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, they reached the front of the house, and with a real sense of panic Harry, at Dumbledore's unspoken signal, raised his head up to the window to peer in. He was, after all, the only one of them with an impenetrable invisibility cloak. _He hoped_.

As he peered in, his heart stopped. Riddle stood in the centre of the room, eyes fixed firmly on the form of Horace Slughorn, who was speaking to him, though Harry couldn't make out the words. Evidently, he was attempting to keep Riddle talking, and Harry, feeling this was their golden chance, raised his wand up, before the hand of Dumbledore gently but urgently gripped his own. He looked down, and felt the headmaster's words in his mind as they locked eyes, indistinct though Dumbledore's were.

 _Not yet._

Harry didn't know what they were waiting for, but then he felt it. A tiny, almost impossible to notice push of magic, from the room before them. As he turned back to look, he saw Horace kneel, and then send a very brief, almost impossible to notice glance at the windows as he did so.

 _Now._

Harry scarcely needed to be told, having gathered that was their signal, and leaping fully to his feet as Dumbledore and Moody did so beside him, they blasted the window into oblivion, sending shards of glass and wood panel flying through the room, and without hesitation, all three of them sent jets of green let straight at the stunned form of Riddle, who had barely done more than turn to them in shock and fury. Then, he vanished, and the three curses exploded into the room behind were Riddle had stood, scorching the walls and leaving a broken and blasted wreck of the room behind.

"Where did he go?" Harry spoke urgently, feeling real terror grip him, knowing Tom hadn't run, couldn't have done. Then, Horace spoke.

"Get back!"

The urgency, terror and _desperation_ in his voice, which sound brittle and broken, was enough to make all three of them instinctively obey, jumping back through the hole where the window had been. A moment later, the room exploded before them, a surge of fiendfyre flame ripping through it, and incinerating everything inside it instantly.

"Horace!"

Harry's yell, quickly joined by Dumbledore's, was lost to the roar of the flame, and the darkness of the sky around them.

 **-** **Moments that define us -**

Horace was beyond agony. His mind was tearing itself in two, filled with unimaginable pain and confusion as his consciousness gave way to the sensation of being crushed by a thousand boulders, torn by a hundred hands.

 _You treacherous old man!_

It was Tom's voice, and Horace had just enough presence of mind to realise what was happening as a dark, poisonous presence spread through him.

 _Possession_.

He knew he had little time, he couldn't hold his old student off forever, and with what little of his free will remained he raised his wand, and fixed his eyes with Harry's, standing at the broken window with terror and confusion.

"Get back!"

He forced all his will, his energy, and his _terror_ into that simple command, and to his immense relief, Harry and the others backed out of the room. He knew this was his only chance; he _must_ destroy the locket, maybe Tom too.

 _What new treachery are you cooking up now, old man? You think you can keep me out? Let's see how you feel when you destroy your own friends, then._

Horace could feel the compulsion to obey tearing through his body and mind and, with a final sense of defiance, managed to raise his wand, pointing it straight at himself.

 _What is this?_

Closing his eyes, choosing his last thoughts to be of his two favourite young students, Horace Slughorn cast the only spell he could use, the only weapon he had left, to protect them and, perhaps, destroy the boy he had one so admired. With a surge of energy, and without any time even to feel pain, his body was engulfed in Fiendfyre, and the last sound Horace Slughorn ever heard in his life was the sound of the most hated enemy he'd ever known, shrieking in anger, loss and pain.

 **\- Moments that define us -**

"What happened?!"

The shout of Hermione, closely followed by his other friends as they ran through the woods towards the house, reached Harry through a long, darkened tunnel, echoing vaguely in his ears, as his eyes remained fixed on the now crumbling, burning remnants of Horace's summer estate, and the crumbling, final end of yet another friendship, of yet another man he'd cared for.

He didn't break down, he didn't even cry as Hermione threw herself around him and Susan, Padma, Hermione, Draco, Ron and the order members gathered beside them, staring up at the house in horror. Horace had known the risks, had known what might come, and Harry now knew the only thing he could do for Horace was ensure Tom Riddle paid for his crimes, that he didn't escape this night alive. He turned to Dumbledore, removing Hermione gently from his arms, and observed the headmaster who stood beside him, face pale and drawn, features lifeless as he stared at the burning home.

"Is Riddle dead, headmaster?"

His words seemed to jolt Dumbledore back to life and he stared intently into the flames, a noticeable wave of magic pulsing into them. With a sigh, he turned back to Harry.

"I fear not, Harry, but the horcrux was destroyed, that much is certain. I must speak to the order. If Tom was injured by this, he's sure to gather his inner circle around him for his protection. Perhaps Severus will be able to find him for us."

Harry nodded as Dumbledore moved to the other order members, sending a phoenix patronus out into the night sky. Harry turned back to the estate, bidding his own, silent farewell to a man he had come to think of as family.

 _We'll meet again, Horace, but for now, please tell my mum and dad I miss them, just as much as I'm going to miss you._

He had no idea if his words could reach Horace, if there was anything even to reach to begin with, but it was all he could now. With a final glance he turned away, drawing Hermione to himself, whose eyes were red with tears.

"We'll get him, Hermione, this time he won't escape."

Hermione said nothing, simply holding him, and the others stared up at the house, not knowing what to say. After a minute or two, Dumbledore came over to them all.

"We've had word from Severus. Tom has returned to his old family home, but has not summoned any death eaters besides Severus. It seems likely he must be injured, if he does not want the others to go to him before Severus does."

Nodding with a grim expression, Harry didn't hesitate to answer.

"Then we go to little Hangleton. We won't get another chance like this, it's time to bring that monster to an end."

With a sad nod Dumbledore stood, passing on the message to the order as Harry told his friends the plan, and asked them once again if they were ready to accompany him. It didn't surprise Harry, but it warmed his heart, that not one of them hesitated, gripping his hand one by one.

There was never any question of that, Harry. Let's go." It was Draco who spoke, and with a respect he never would have believed even six months ago welling up inside him, Harry grasped Draco's hand firmly, patting him on the shoulder as he responded.

"Then we go. We're ready, headmaster."

With a nod Dumbledore summoned a large stone from the grounds and muttered "Portus" as he waved his wand above it. Motioning to them all to grip it they each placed a hand on it, and feeling the familiar and unpleasant sensation of the jerk at his back, Harry and the others vanished into the night. To the Riddle manor, and to finally bring an end to Lord Voldemort.


	20. Chapter 20: Riddle manor

The red glow of sunset, slowly fading to the full darkness of night, descended on Riddle manor, as light glowed from the windows of the topmost floor for the first time in two years. Of course, that would raise suspicions in the eyes of any of the nearby muggles in the village, which was why Lord Voldemort had chosen simply to wipe the entire village out when he'd arrived. The blasted ruins of the village would give the impression an army had passed through, were it not for the complete lack of any sign of a living soul there. Now, the only sounds in Little Hangleton where the high pitched, terrifying shrieks emanating from the old manor house, and would chill the blood of any who heard them, if anyone had been alive to hear them to begin with.

As it happened, one man was able to hear them, and that unfortunate soul was Severus Snape, who had been summoned to the side of his lord, to heal him as best he could. Severus was no coward, but as he observed the blackened, charred flesh of his so-called master, it made his skin crawl. It reminded him of the effects of the curse on Dumbledore's hand and arm, and the similarities were striking. For one thing, much of the dark lord's face, and a good two thirds of his body were blackened to virtually a crisp, and for another, it was resisting all his efforts at healing. It seemed apparent that his master could not be healed, and Severus was glad his revulsion and disgust kept his sense of satisfaction that Lily's killer was so grievously wounded hidden deep inside him.

Another shriek sounded through the manor, and Severus dearly wished he could silence the dark lord, either by charm or more permanently, but neither seemed a good option. The dark lord's magic was damaged beyond repair, and his mind seemed to be virtually broken, but he was still powerful, and Severus didn't want to chance anything till the order arrived.

 _Which ought to be any moment now, they'd better hurry._

"Severus! Are you even trying?! _Fix_ this!"

The dark lord seized the front of Severus' robes, eyes burning into his own, but no amount of threat of force could change the fact Severus could do nothing, even if he wanted to. The dark lord was beyond all repair.

"I apologise, my lord, but the damage is extensive. Short of longer and more detailed research on the damage, there is little even my strongest potions could do."

The dark lord looked ready to explode and Severus moved back, ever so slightly, seeing the madness now descending in the mind of the man before him. This was not good at all, and Severus sensed danger, _serious_ danger ahead. It was time to make an exit.

"Then I have little use for you, fool!"

The dark lord hurled a curse at Severus, and it was a testament to how weakened his master was that Severus managed to dodge it, almost with ease, pulling his own wand out, sensing that the time for subterfuge had passed at last.

"You dodge your punishment? Well, Severus, that cannot be allowed."

Severus tensed, preparing himself for the fight of his life and raising his wand. Before he could do much more than that, his body ceased functioning entirely, and he knew he was in real trouble now. To his horror the dark lord stood, broken and burned, and before his eyes transformed into the horrifying black hooded dementor form he'd so recently acquired. But this was more than that, as the room itself seemed to lose all light, and all emotion was sucked from Severus instantly.

 _Impossible!_

But as the dark lord approached he knew it was perfectly possible, and as that terrible monster grabbed at him and turned his head up to face him, Severus knew that, whether the dark lord would die tonight or not, he would not be there to see it. Having long ago ceased to much care about his own life, Severus chose to accept what was coming and let his thoughts linger only on Lily, who he hoped would not hate him too much for all he'd done wrong. Yet, as the hooded lord drew closer, it seemed to hesitate and falter, unsure of itself, and Severus felt the oppressive, icy cold fade, ever so slightly, and his grip on himself strengthened.

"Why?"

The dark lord's shape faded, his powers receding, and Severus regained full awareness again, but for a moment was too shocked to react as the dark lord transformed back into his burnt, human form.

"What's happening to me?!"

The dark lord shrieked in fury, confusion and fear, and Severus knew he wouldn't get another chance. With a running leap, he threw himself from the window of Riddle manor, and as the dark lord hurled green bolts of death at him he apparated away, his thoughts focused not on any destination, but on reaching Dumbledore and the order. They needed to attack, and now! With a crack and a prayer that he didn't end up splinched Severus vanished, the shrieks of his former master ringing in his ears.

 **\- Moments that define us -**

"Severus!"

Albus Dumbledore nearly jumped from his skin as his informant cracked into being, landing almost on top of him, and it was only thanks to a quick shield charm that Albus saved himself a likely injury, though the same couldn't be said of a groaning Severus, who landed with a thud in the grass.

"Headmaster...where are we?"

Albus was about to respond when Severus looked up, spotted the manor ahead of them, and let out a groan.

"You mean to tell me I apparated less than 100 feet? Why do I even bother..."

Albus took a moment to consider these strange words before he pulled Severus up and checked him over. Sensing no physical injuries, though his informant was clearly shaken, he chose to allow Severus to speak of his own account, motioning to Harry and Hermione, who were stood nearby and looked similarly shocked and worried, to stay where they were.

"Headmaster, the time to attack is now." Severus met Albus' eyes, the resolve clear in them, though mixed with obvious fear. "He is vulnerable. Whatever you did to him, he is gravely wounded, it even seems to have impacted his dementor form, though I don't know how."

Severus paused, and Albus took a moment to consider this statement. There were two points of interest as he saw it: first, that Tom's dementor form was weakened was good news of itself, as it seemed to validate his research. From what little he'd found, it seemed that dementors themselves were, as it turned out, a product of horcrux usage. The details had been scant, but most of his sources agreed that a dementor was a creature born of a destroyed soul, and though they do not originate exclusively from horcruxes, or from split souls, that was possible. That Tom had somehow not only discovered this, but a way to take that form _voluntarily_ and only at his will was a terrifying thought, but if it had weakened him as Severus suggested, that was fantastic news. But it led to the second point...

"Severus, you said the dementor form was weaker? How do you know that?"

Severus met his eyes, and Albus had his question answered before the reply came; evidently, Tom had intended to use it against Severus, and presumably failed.

 _So, he has lost the ability, or perhaps his control over it? That may only have been temporary though, the shock of Horace's betrayal, maybe?_

It was a mystery, but as far as Albus was concerned, one they couldn't afford to spend time solving. In fact, it probably couldn't be solved even in a lifetime. He'd have to leave these questions to history to solve. For now, the salient point was that Tom was weak. Horace's sacrifice hadn't been in vain, he had harmed Tom Riddle, and on top of that, destroyed the last horcrux. Tom was mortal now, and they would never have a better chance.

"Severus, if you need to rest..."

Albus was cut off almost immediately as Severus stood, brushing himself down and with a determined expression.

"Thank you headmaster, but I will remain here. You do not know the manor, I do. I also know that he has not had time to lay any traps. It's now or never."

Albus nodded, grasping Severus' shoulder briefly, before turning and moving to where Harry, Hermione, Ron and their friends were talking with Alastor and Kingsley. The other order members had been sent to investigate the damage to Little Hangleton, and try to find survivors.

"Are you all OK?"

Albus could see that none of them were _OK_ , and he couldn't blame them. The devastation they'd arrived to find when they got here by Portkey had been truly horrific to behold. Tom had unleashed himself completely, and if Albus was any judge, had likely lost control of himself. That only made him more dangerous and unpredictable, and he needed to be sure all of Harry's friends were ready for this.

"We're fine, headmaster." Susan spoke up, a warm if strained smile on her face, and Padma nodded from beside her.

"We'd better get this over with, before he attacks anywhere else." Padma chimed in with her thoughts, and Draco and Susan nodded agreement. Albus turned to look at Harry, Ron and Hermione, but didn't need to ask, if their grim and determined faces were any indication. He gave them all a brief smile.

"Very well then, Severus informs me the manor is largely unprotected, so we will be taking a direct approach. Harry, we understand that Tom is extremely agitated and gravely injured. If you are willing, I believe our best chance is for you to go in first. You will hold his attention immediately and completely. In his current state, that will allow me to approach unnoticed, and to set up wards to prevent his escape. Fawkes," as Albus spoke, his phoenix burst into appearance on his shoulder and trilled at them all in friendly greeting, "will send you my signal when we are ready, but for the moments until we enter the room, it will be just you against Tom. Are you ready for this?"

Albus knew it was a redundant question, could see in Harry's eyes the resolve and determination, and simply smiled as Fawkes trilled again, fluttering over to Harry. He could sense his Phoenix giving Harry both reassurance and the signal they would use, a simple mental 'nudge'. Hopefully, not enough to alert Tom, but Albus would take no chances; he would be in that room within seconds of the signal as, he knew, would be Harry's friends. Clasping Harry's hand, Albus turned to face the manor.

"Very well then, let's not waste any more time. Follow me."

 **\- Moments that define us -**

Harry was nervous beyond belief, beyond anything he had ever felt before. It felt ridiculous to be simply walking in through the front door, alone and with no real hope of escape, but he knew, whether his friends wanted to be there or not, it was just him and Tom now, nobody else would be allowed to fall to Tom's hand ever again.

As he mounted the elaborate but broken down and dusty staircase, he thought of many things. Of the prophecy, that seemed to have warned this moment would one day come, to his friendship with Horace, to Hermione and his feelings for her, to Draco, to Padma, Susan, Ron. It all came down to this, and he hadn't even really had a chance to spend a final moment with Hermione, in case it all went wrong. Truth be told, he'd chosen not to. He could see the terror in her eyes as they'd parted on the manor grounds and he went off alone, but he'd refused to contemplate the possibility of defeat.

 _I will end this, myself, for everyone._

Feeling grimly determined he reached the top floor, and seeing the light of the rooms at the far end of the hallway, made his way as calmly as he could, hoping his nervous breathing wasn't too loud, or his shaking too bad. Having reached the door he pushed it open, and instantly felt sick.

Before him, stood before the burning embers of the fire, was Tom Riddle, but he hardly looked like Tom Riddle any longer. His face, so recently restored to human form, was twisted by burns, cracked and blackened. If he didn't know better, he'd have thought it was still smoking. But more than that, the very _presence_ of Riddle had changed. The power and calm he had exuded when he'd been meeting Horace was now muted and dull, and if Harry didn't know better, he'd say Riddle was _shaking_.

Harry stepped into the room, not bothering to mask his presence, and Riddle turned to face him, making Harry's stomach roll with disgust and fear.

"You. It always comes back to you, doesn't it? _Boy_."

Riddle's voice was empty. It wasn't even angry, or cold, or malicious. He sounded like he'd already died, and Harry was so stunned by that he didn't know what to say, he didn't know what to say at all. Steeling his nerves, he held Riddle's gaze as he responded.

"And it always will be, until the end."

"Yes, I suppose it will be."

To Harry's infinite surprise, Riddle turned back to the fire, not even bothering to raise a wand, or a shield, leaving himself entirely exposed to Harry. He didn't know what to think, and his mind was a sea of questions and confusion.

 _What the hell happened to you?_

"I'm finished."

Shock. That was all that Harry felt. It was all he _could_ feel at the two simple, defeated words that came from the once proud dark lord. It didn't seem possible, it didn't fit, didn't make sense.

"You will be once this night is over."

He tried to maintain the bravado, but his words sounded empty and confused even to his own ears. Riddle didn't even turn, didn't even respond until a minute or two later.

"Perhaps. Tell me, boy, did the old man ever tell you what I've become?"

Harry, truly out of his depth, replied hesitantly.

"He said you're a half dementor now?"

Riddle laughed, turning back to Harry and for once, it wasn't an insane laugh, or even a mocking one. He was genuinely _amused_ , and Harry raised his wand, anticipating an attack which never came. Instead, Riddle only laughed harder, even as the laughter caused parts of his skin to crumble away like dust, until he finally exhausted himself. Harry felt angry, not appreciating the mockery, but was too curious to act yet. Finally, Riddle composed himself.

"That would only be _half_ the story, boy. He has not seen the dark places of the world as I have, does not understand the nature of some of the elements of magic that I do."

"He's a greater wizard than you ever could be!"

Harry spoke angrily, but Riddle didn't respond at all to that, simply cocking his head to the side, before continuing to speak.

"Regardless, there are things even he does not know. For instance, that a dementor is, essentially, the final stage of the 'life' cycle of a ghost, it is a spirit destroyed by time and decay, a trapped soul that no longer can sustain itself, needing to feed on the memory of emotion and life to preserve itself. But any soul can become one in the right circumstances, for instance, if you tear one apart by force."

Harry frowned, not really sure why Riddle was telling him any of this, and yet, he felt lucky. It at least gave Dumbledore time to prepare the final assault.

"What's your point, Riddle?"

"My _point_ is that I am _not_ half a dementor. I can, at times of my choosing, become one completely. You already know the _reason_ why, if not the how. By tearing my soul so much to sustain my life indefinitely, I damaged it beyond repair. Effectively, I can take the dementor form now because my soul is already dying, and is seeking out _nourishment_. I am a parasite, boy, and even using that power to reunite my horcruxes has not truly repaired the damage. I will grow weaker, more feeble, until at last I vanish completely."

Riddle spoke dispassionately, as though discussing the weather, and Harry simply didn't understand it. But he sensed something else in Riddle's words, a hint of true defeat. He had lost the will to fight.

"If you like, I can end it for you Riddle, or, you can come peacefully. I doubt you could ever be forgiven for what you've done, but you could at least bring it to an end."

Riddle simply stared at Harry, not speaking, before his lip curled, and Harry saw that familiar, cruel smile emerge as Riddle finally withdrew his wand.

"I could, but, in the end, I am Lord Voldemort, the most powerful dark lord ever known. If my end is inevitable, I shall meet it fighting. After all," and Riddle smirked at Harry at this, "it's what you would do in my place, no? Face me, boy."

Harry, realising any chance of peaceful settlement was gone, simply nodded his head, raising his wand.

"Fine, let's end this."

With an explosion of light, they began their last fight.

 **\- Moments that define us -**

Hermione was beside herself with anxiety. It was becoming a much too familiar feeling, and it wasn't helped by the fact all she and the others could do was _sit_ here and wait for Dumbledore to finish the wards. In all honesty, she had wondered why Dumbledore couldn't just set them up before Harry went in, but he had been adamant Voldemort needed to be distracted so he didn't sense them going up. It made sense, and that infuriated her even more.

She could tell the headmaster was panicked too, as was a continually pacing Ron, and the huddled figures of the others beside him. They were all gathered just below the windows where they knew Harry now was, and Hermione was becoming more and more anxious with every second. Not just because Harry was up there by now, as he surely must be, but because they hadn't heard any sound at all. No screams, no battle, no nothing. Just silence, resounding, defeaning silence.

 _Something's wrong._

She could sense it in her gut, but she could do nothing. Dumbledore looked, if anything, more anxious than she was, and probably for the same reason, but he said nothing as he continued scratching runes and casting spells over the grounds. Then, the explosion finally came.

Hermione yelped as the entire outer section of the top floor of the manor exploded outwards, and all she and the others could do was raise shield charms up as the masonry crashed into the garden and grounds.

"Headmaster, we have to go now!"

To Hermione's surprise, it was Professor Snape, rather than she, who voiced the words they all were thinking. Dumbledore took one look at Snape, and nodded grimly.

"Everyone, go, the wards are just about ready, I will catch up."

Hermione didn't need telling twice, and she and her friends, led by Moody, Kingsley and Snape, raced into the manor, tearing up the stairs at a speed she'd never thought she could manage as they raced to save Harry. Bursting through the remains of the doorway, she found Harry furiously maintaining a shield against a relentless assault from Voldemort, who was raining pure fury upon him, not even bothering with any kind of strategy, just pounding him into submission, screaming in rage. Then, he looked up and saw them.

 **-** **Moments that define us -**

Harry's heart stopped as he turned to see what Riddle was looking at, and he barely had a chance to call out a warning as a wave of pure dark magic gathered about Riddle, ripping the room apart.

"Move, now!"

But the warning came too late, and with a reverberating shriek Riddle unleashed his magic, tearing the entire structure apart and causing the floor beneath them to collapse. As it did, Harry lost sight of his friends. He barely had time to pray Hermione would be OK before the floor under him impacted on the room below it, and he felt a leg break as part of the ceiling that had been above them smashed into his shin, sending agonising pain through him.

Harry raised his shield again, but Riddle had vanished, evidently to dodge the falling debris. Standing as best he could, he pointed his wand about wildly in the collapsing ruin of the manor, the dust making it impossible to see. Then he heard a woman screaming and felt an icy chill descend, and knew he was in trouble.

He turned, and the black hooded dementor form of Riddle swept upon him, wasting no time and grasping his face, exerting all it could into sucking the soul from his body. He could do nothing, he hadn't even the chance to see it coming, and he knew it was hopeless until, with a flash, a golden flame emerged from behind him and struck Riddle directly in his face, burning the hood away and leaving the rotting, gaping maw of his mouth and eyes exposed, and Harry really did scream at that sight. Then Riddle released him, and looking behind him Harry saw Fawkes, perched atop the form of Dumbledore.

 _Thank Merlin._

 **-** **Moments that define us -**

Albus Dumbledore said nothing as he saw before him the last remnants of Tom Riddle. The decaying husk was no longer human, it wasn't even living, just a parasite, and with a weary feeling of resignation Dumbledore steeled himself, wand at the ready, and without a word sent a jet of gold lightening sparking at Riddle, knowing words were long past their use.

Riddle's dementor form could do nothing, and it gave an inhuman howl of pain as the golden spell struck it, setting it alight, before it raised its wand and extinguished the flames, sending another jet of pure darkness to blanket Dumbledore's form.

This time though, Dumbledore was not off guard as he had been at Malfoy Manor. He was not surprised, and the fury of the man who had once bested Gellert Grindelwald made Riddle hesitate as, with an almost contemptuous wave of his wand, he sent the dark energy streaming out into the night sky. Taking no time to pause Dumbledore swept forward, using one hand to wandlessly lift Harry out of the way, and his wand hand to direct Fawkes, who swooped down and clawed at Riddle, even as Dumbledore followed that up with another blast of golden energy, and then a green killing curse, which missed the target, but only barely.

Riddle's dementor form snarled and he lifted up one of the collapsed pillars with magically augmented, clawed hands, launching it at Dumbledore who swiftly split it in two, each end flying past his head to crash into the grounds. Dumbledore raised his wand again, and this time sent a jet of controlled fire streaming at Riddle, who to his surprise didn't manage to block it, and burst into flames, flailing in a torrent of wails of pain.

After a few moments, Riddle's form changed back to his human one, and he extinguished the flames, but Dumbledore could sense he had weakened enormously. It seemed, as he suspected, fire was one of the few things Riddle could no longer protect himself from, and Tom simply collapsed to the ground, breathing shallow, as Dumbledore towered over him.

"Last chance, Tom. Give up, please, I have never wanted to destroy you."

Riddle looked up at him, and Dumbledore was taken aback by the fury in his eyes.

" _Never!"_

An enormous wave of energy exploded out from Tom and Dumbledore, caught by surprise, was blasted off his feet and crashed into the ruins of the wall behind him, falling swiftly unconscious and landing in a heap on the floor. With a triumphant shout Riddle jumped up, pointing his wand right at the broken headmaster.

 **-** **Moments that define us -**

Harry's leg had lost all feeling, his glasses were cracked and his mind hazy, but on hearing the headmaster's shout he dragged himself up from where he'd been pushed by Dumbledore, stumbling back into the room. He saw the headmaster collapsed on the floor, Fawkes desperately attacking Riddle, before Riddle sent a jet of green light at the phoenix which exploded in a blaze of fire, vanishing into the night with a final trill.

He saw Riddle raise his wand, and with grim determination, called out to him.

"Enough, Riddle."

Riddle didn't respond, just whirled around and thrust out his wand, a jet of green meeting the jet of golden red that flowed from Harry's own, before the two streams of magic blasted away from each other, smashing into the ceiling.

"It will never be enough, boy. _Never!_ "

Harry was exhausted, he was in pain, he was scared for his friends, and now the headmaster, but he was determined too.

"No, I suppose it won't."

Harry gave no warning, and sent a blast of Fiendfyre right at Riddle, who could do little more than deflect it, and Harry realised Riddle was exhausted, all the fight truly beaten from him. Knowing it was his only chance, and feeling only a hint of remorse, his eyes met Riddle's as he cast the final spells. A stream of golden red, which Riddle deflected, a jet of flame which he dodged, and then, as Riddle stumbled from the roll, a jet of green light, bright as Harry's eyes. Riddle's eyes too, turned momentarily green as the killing curse struck him, and he didn't even try to dodge it. He simply dropped his wand and as it hit, crumpled to the ground, silent and unmoving.

Harry couldn't quite believe it, sure it was a trick, but as he raised himself up again, limping cautiously over to gaze down at Riddle's body, he knew it was done. Riddle was dead, finally dead, and in the end, he had simply taken it without a word.

Harry didn't even take a moment to savour the moment, the end of it all, as he frantically turned and searched for Hermione and the others in the rubble. Using his wand, he carelessly sent one piece of masonry after another crashing into the grounds behind him as he searched. Then, he heard muffled shouting.

"Harry, down here!"

His heart nearly burst with relief as he spotted them, all of them, even Snape and Moody, trapped in the basement they had clearly fallen into.

 _They're safe, thank Merlin._

Pulling them out one by one, they gathered in the room and stared down at the broken form of Tom Marvolo Riddle, Hermione clutching Harry's arm tightly as they looked at it. Then, Harry realised he'd forgotten someone else.

"Professor Dumbledore!"

He turned and dashed over to where Dumbledore lay, and to his relief, found the headmaster was breathing, but his breath came heavily, and it was a frantic Severus Snape who pushed him aside, calling out urgently.

"Alastor! Kingsley! Get Pomfrey, and get me my trunk from my office, the headmaster needs urgent attention!"

Harry felt his heart sink as he stared at the battered form of his headmaster.

 _We'll get you out of here sir, it's over, we'll get you out._

Yet he couldn't help it as tears formed in his eyes; tears of fear, exhaustion, pain and relief, and he had never felt more thankful for Hermione than he did at that moment. She simply, without saying a word, drew him into her arms, and held him gently as he collapsed to his knees, no longer able to stand, exhausted in body and mind.


	21. Chapter 21: An end and a beginning

The morning was bright and clear through the windows, but Harry felt anything but those two things. After the tumultuous events of the previous evening, the fact he had even recovered enough already that he could stand without wincing was a testament as much to Madam Pomfrey as his own resilience. He was a mess of emotions, not really sure what he was feeling, and this made sitting here, by Dumbledore's bedside, all the harder, even if Hermione was by his side, her hand wrapped tightly in one of his.

"There really is no need to look so solemn, Harry. As I said to you once before, there is little reason to fear the end, and especially not now."

Dumbledore's voice was calm, but frailer than Harry liked, and Harry did not like it at all. He had known this was coming however, had known ever since Dumbledore had revealed what had happened when he'd found the ring, but it did little to make him feel any less miserable about it. He was only glad Pomfrey had accepted Dumbledore's wish to remain in his private quarters, in the end.

"I know, but I still don't like it. I don't know what we're going to do without you."

Harry spoke softly, trying to keep control over his voice, and he knew it wasn't working very well as Hermione shifted closer to him, tightening her grip. Dumbledore, however, simply smiled in his old, typical way.

"Well, that's really up to you to decide now, Harry. I don't think there's anything more either of you could learn from me that the other professors could not teach you, or that your friends could not help you with."

He paused, closing his eyes for a few moments and Fawkes, who was perched beside Dumbledore's head, brushed a wing softly against the headmaster's head, which made his open his eyes again with a small smile.

"Always the demanding one, aren't you Fawkes?"

The phoenix simply looked at him, and it was evident Dumbledore got the message, whatever that may have been, as he turned to Harry with a sigh.

"I only have one thing left to ask of you, Harry, and I hope it isn't too much. Fawkes here, as you know, will remain long after I am gone, after all of us are gone for that matter... he has expressed the desire to join with you and Hermione, not as a pet, but as a familiar of sorts. He will largely wander alone, but if you ever need him, he will come to you, and if he needs you, he will call."

Harry simply stared at his headmaster, then the phoenix, not really sure what to say to that. For a phoenix to choose to be a familiar was extremely rare, and a notable privilege. He turned to Hermione, but from her expression knew he needn't ask, and simply turned to Fawkes, nodding softly.

"Of course, we'd be thrilled to have you with us, Fawkes, though I don't know that we'd be the best people for you to be with."

Fawkes trilled softly, but with some measure of insistence, making Dumbledore chuckle slightly before coughing, evidently amused by the exchange.

"I rather suspect Fawkes will not tolerate you talking of yourselves in that fashion, Harry. A phoenix is a tremendously powerful creature, and with the wisdom to match their years. As I have learned from many a nip to the hand, they keep their own counsel, and once a decision is made, it is final. In a way, you don't have much of a choice."

Fawkes trilled again, with even more indignation, and batted Dumbledore's arm softly with his wing, clicking his beak. This only made Dumbledore laugh again, though it sounded painful for him to do so.

"Ah, as easy to tease as ever, I see. The three of you will get along just fine, I think, but be sure to be polite to Hedwig, Fawkes. I rather suspect she will not appreciate you monopolising her master _too_ frequently."

Fawkes simply turned his head away, indicating his evident disdain for the snowy owl's jealously, and even Harry and Hermione chuckled this time. It helped ease the tension in the room, but even so, Harry felt awful, and fell into silence for a few moments. After a deep breath, Dumbledore sighed.

"Well I think, with that, there's little more to be said. I am extremely tired, more tired than I can describe, and have been ready for the next journey for a long, long time. I hope you can forgive me Harry, so soon after Horace..."

Harry shook his head, reaching forward to grasp Dumbledore's hand gently for a moment.

"We both knew this was coming, and as you said yourself: death is the one certainty of life. I won't pretend I don't wish this wasn't happening, but it can't be avoided forever, and we will meet again."

Dumbledore, eyes shut now, smiled slightly at that and nodded.

"As to that, you are quite right. I just...I only hope that I can be forgiven."

His eyelids tightened slightly, and Hermione reached forward too to clasp their hands in her own. They said nothing, choosing to let the headmaster say whatever he felt he wanted to. Fawkes hopped up closer to Dumbledore's head, gazing down at him softly.

"I have made many mistakes Harry, so many mistakes. I have had a long life, and naturally, my list of failures matches that, but even with that taken into account...I have done things, long ago, that I am not proud of, and things even since then...I think of people I could have helped, could have protected. Your mother and father, the families of so many students, my own family..."

Dumbledore's eyes tightened further, and his grip on Harry and Hermione's hand tightened considerably. Fawkes trilled softly, nuzzling his head against the headmaster's as Dumbledore spoke again.

"The only thing I fear, Harry, is I will go to meet them and find their eyes cold, their arms folded, their backs turned from me. And the worst part of that is I would have deserved it. I have failed so many times."

Harry could say nothing, he didn't know what to say, and as Fawkes trilled again, clearly comforting the headmaster, it was Hermione who, to his surprise, spoke.

"Perhaps you have headmaster, we all have mistakes we wish we could undo, but you forget the rest. You forget that you have done more to bring about the end of not just one but two of the darkest wizards ever to live than almost anyone else in your lifetime. Without you, Harry would never have survived, and quite possibly, muggleborns like me wouldn't have survived either. It doesn't matter what failures you've been responsible for, the mistakes you've made, because in the end, you devoted yourself to doing all you could to make yourself a better person. I don't know what you'll find, but I know it will be what you deserve. You have nothing to fear."

Fawkes trilled again, louder, and sent what was plainly an approving look at Hermione, before nuzzling again to the side of the headmaster's head as Dumbledore's eyes opened again, misty, but alert, and he smiled widely at Hermione, then Harry and Fawkes.

"Thank you, it means more to me to hear that than you know. Especially from the two of you."

He closed his eyes again and they fell into silence. After a few minutes, the headmaster's breathing slowed, and Harry knew the end was almost on them. He reached up and placed his hand on the headmaster's forehead, gently brushing aside his hair and removing his glasses, and spoke what he knew would be his final words to his mentor, and his friend.

"We'll be apart many years, but we'll all be together again. Until then, please tell my mum and dad I miss them, and that they owe you so much. Oh, and kick Horace for me for being so damned _noble._ "

Harry didn't expect an answer and Dumbledore gave none, but as the headmaster's breathing finally stopped and Fawkes look into Harry's eyes sadly, Harry _felt_ Fawkes speak to him, could sense the meaning even though Fawkes used no words, and the message was clear.

 _They already know._

Then, the room fell silent. Harry released the headmaster's hand and slumped back into his chair, unable to speak, not knowing what to do. The events of the last twenty four hours hit him at last, and the pain of the losses, and of all the losses to get to this point, swept over him and he simply dropped his head, beyond even the point of tears. Hermione was plainly in the same state, as she simply moved across into Harry's arms, and they held each other, unable to feel anything but grief.

He didn't know how long they'd been there, but he felt a warmth envelop him and Hermione and as he opened his eyes, found that Fawkes had spread his wings and folded them around the two of them in the chair. He didn't question the gesture, or how the phoenix had suddenly grown in size, he simply melted into the feeling and remained quiet until, at last, he felt able to speak again.

"Fawkes."

The phoenix moved away from them and looked into his eyes intently, and Harry simply knew, instinctively, the phoenix would understand whatever he wanted him to hear.

"Please let Professor McGonagall into the study, she'll need to arrange the...funeral."

Fawkes simply look at him, and Harry felt the understanding wash into his mind as, with a whirl of flame, he vanished. Harry looked down at Hermione, who was still buried into his chest, and brushed the top of her head softly just as she loved him to do. After a few moments, she looked up at him.

"It's over."

Two words, spoken bluntly, and finally, he felt they really were true. Hermione nodded at him, eyes still red, before drawing herself up and meeting his lips softly, her warm breath bringing life back into his body as they embraced for a few moments, before pulling apart.

"What do you want to do now?"

Harry said nothing, looking for a final time at the headmaster's now peaceful form, and simply looked back at her before giving a small smile, and the warmest one he could manage.

"I was going to ask you that. The summer's coming up soon, once...once we've laid the headmaster-our _friend_ , to rest. There's really no reason left for me to go back to the Dursleys."

He saw the fire light her eyes briefly at the mention of the hated name, and giving a brief glance at their friend's body she looked back at him, with her own small smile.

"Then we do what he would have wanted; we do what _we_ want to do. And you are coming back home with me this summer, no excuses!"

Harry smiled, having expected no less, and hugged her tightly, expressing in his touch what his words never could. They would do what they had always wanted: they would live, they'd be with their friends, and, one day and with a little luck, be a family.

 _Family_.

And that, right there, was the word that meant the most to Harry Potter and as he stood, Hermione bonded to his side where he knew she'd always be, he understood, completely, that to Harry Potter, it was family that defined _him._


End file.
